Long ago, in the endless lush green of the pine and oak Lochbell Forest - now known as Central America - there was a small bird. This was not just any old small bird, like the conventional sparrow, but a cruel, brown-grey songbird. He called himself Bellos, for he believed he was the most beautiful and important bird of the entire forest, if not already of the world. He went around, spitting insults at those who were exceptional singers. In reality, Bellos was jealous. Jealous of the other birds' wonderful voices, ringing crisp and loud throughout Lochbell Forest. He hated his own song: he thought it was piercing and irritating, but actually it was quite pretty if sang in a certain way. Because of this, Bellos spent his days weaving through and under the forest canopy taunting, sneering at all the lowly birds he met.
One morning, Bellos was doing his daily rounds. Everything was quiet and normal, so he decided to go target the yellow, shy but friendly neighbourhood canary.
"I bet even the crickets can sing better than you, "Bellos called to her with an ugly shriek.
Perched on a low hanging tree branch with her golden-coloured feathers catching the morning sun, she replied softly, "That doesn't bother me. I sing for my joy."
Disappointed by her lack of reaction, Bellos scowled and flew away with, "Whatever. I care not."
His next bird of interest was the irritable but smart warbler, with his showy light blue look hidden away in a nearby section of the forest canopy. Bellos smirked and flew up to the stout bird with a flourish.
"I bet even the breeze can whistle louder than you," he laughed over the warbler's resounding calls.
Cocking his head to one side, the other ruffled his feathers. "Is this a challenge? I'd gladly compete against you in a singing contest." With that, he turned around and with a shake of his tail feathers, flew away.
Offended, Bellos shrugged. "Whatever. I care not."
For some change in Bellos's affairs, he chose to provoke a bird whose species was not known to him. She had a voice as bright and clear as the sun itself, which cast rays of gold upon her, glancing off the songbird's small, black feathers.
"Oh, look how puny you are! I bet even the crows can sing sweeter than you," Bellos screeched, landing on the thick low oak branch where the black songbird stood comfortably.
The other paused mid-note and turned to stare blankly at him with her piercing eyes. "Okay," she said.
Bellos, puzzled by this strange little bird, prepared to fly to his next unfortunate soul, saying once again, "Whatever. I care not."
"But you do care."
He almost toppled out of the tree in surprise. Sitting in the place of the little black songbird was a beautiful dark-haired girl, clad in a dress of magnificent shades of green with pointed ears on either side of her head: a forest dryad.
"You need not such envy, little one," observed the dryad.
She gently patted the awe-struck bird's head. Bellos scowled at her in return. After all, what did she know?
The smiling dryad paid no attention to this and advised with kindness, "Appreciate your own songs. Push yourself up instead of shoving others down."
The poor little songbird stared at her, his brown beak agape. He had finally found someone who understood him. Who was this girl? Whatever, Bellos didn't want to care. To mask his insecurities, he tossed his head, ruffled his feathers, and once again readied to take to the skies.
Before he could fly off, the dryad spoke to him again, her face blank and eyes unsmiling and cold. "Let me hear you sing, little one."
It was like someone was forcing Bellos' beak open and using his vocal cords against his will. The voice that came from him was not his own, but the cheerful chirping of a robin, then the comical twitter of a sparrow, and all the bird calls he had made petty fun of. Bellos hopped frantically from branch to branch, flapping his wings wildly as if he could break free from the curse.
He screamed between songs, "What are you doing? Make it stop! Make it stop!"
His singing suddenly died away, and the mysterious dryad had faded away into the green unknown of the forest.
In humiliation and defeat, the little songbird, known as the mockingbird from that fateful day on, fled the forest and was never seen again. So, this was the reason that the mockingbirds imitate other birds' songs. Because of Bellos and his jealousy, every mockingbird was cursed at birth of not ever having their own songs, but to always and forevermore sing the songs of the others' ancestors of old.
