Skies that don't Fall

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Children Stories  |  House: Booksie Classic
A spin on the classic children's book, Chicken Little.

Submitted: August 01, 2012

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Submitted: August 01, 2012



“Help! Oh dear me! My dear oh dear oh my!” A distraught voice found my ears.

I poked my head out the window of my apartment and looked down the street. A little chicken was running around through the street calling its plea. Puzzled, I cocked my head to one side. Why a chicken would be running around in the middle of a street in the middle of New York City, I had no idea. I did know one thing, though, chickens don’t talk; they bawk and squawk and whatever else chickens do.

Closing the window, I slid on my slippers and padded down the steps. Clandestinely, I crept past my sleeping Me-ma and out the apartment door. I wrapped my robe tighter around me as the chilly air hit my body. Stepping out into the street, I walked slowly towards the chicken.

“Here chicky chicky!” I coaxed, clicking my tongue as I went. “Come here. I won’t hurt you.”

“I’m not dumb and I’m certainly not a ‘chicky’.”

“What?” I stepped backwards, shocked. I guess it wasn’t as surprising to hear a chicken speak as you stood with your head sticking out a window as it was when it was right in your face.

“You heard me, I’m not dumb.” She decidedly said.

“You can speak.” I said speechless.

“Yes, I can speak. Now can we please get down to business?”

“What business?” I gawked.

“I need help. Come this way.” She waddled on down the street as I stood there with my mouth open.

“Well? Are you coming?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Follow me!”

My ethics told me that following a chicken that wasn’t even supposed to be in New York City was probably not the best idea I’ve ever had but my curiosity needed to be quenched. For ten minutes it looked as if we were just aimlessly walking down random streets. Then, she stopped.

“Here we are!” She said turning to a pile of junk.

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“It’s not supposed to be anything. Follow me.” Waddling up to it, she pulled a piece of burlap up that was hanging over a box with her wing and pointed to the gap it had made. “Go on in.”


“Go on in!”

“In there?”

“Yes, crawl into the hole.”

“Okay. . .” I swallowed my fear and crawled through the hole. I was in a tunnel, a very dark tunnel. I could hear the chicken behind me; clucking and scratching as she went. Finally, after 20 minutes of crawling, I saw light. I raced towards it and the chicken ran after me. Coming out of the tunnel I stood up and shook the dirt off my PJ’s. Looking up, I saw what looked like a land out of a fairy tale or a children’s book. The chicken scurried down the lane and called for me to follow. Stopping at what must have been her home, she turned.

“My name’s Chicken Little and I need help.”

“Wait, like in the children’s book?”

This time it was she who cocked her head.

“You know, when an acorn falls off the chicken’s roof and she thinks the sky is falling?”

“How did you know? That is exactly my problem! I was working in my garden and then all of a sudden a duress of acorns fell from the sky! The only explanation that I can construe is that the sky is going to or is falling! Can you help me admonish the King about it?”

“Um, I’m pretty sure the sky is not falling and are you sure you want to tell the King about it? He’s probably busy. . .”

“I am very sure about everything! Now let’s go.” After running inside, she came out with a bonnet and a pick-nick basket. “Come on!”

We started down the road and she continued to squawk about how the world might be coming to an end. She was inexorable in her opinion about it and soon I let her rampantly run on about it; only making occasional “Mmmm-hmms” and “uh-hus” when needed. Meanwhile, I watched the world around me. So much was going on. Everything looked almost 1-demensional; like they had just jumped off of the pages of their story. We had just turned a turn in the road when another chicken came into view; well, I saw it, I don’t think Chicken Little noticed.

“Don’t you concur?” she asked.

“Um, yes.” I said, just to avoid another outburst of rebuttal.

“Chicken Little! Chicken Little!” The other chicken bawked excitedly.

“Oh, Henny Penny!” Chicken Little squawked back. “You have to hear what is happening!”

“What?” Henny Penny said excitedly.

I rolled my eyes as my companion launched herself, and Henny Penny, into the idea that the sky was falling.

“We must go tell the King at once!”

So off we went. Now there were two chickens squawking on about a sky that was not falling. Soon we met more strange characters; Cocky Locky, Ducky Daddles, Goosey Poosey, Turkey Lurkey, Gander Pander and finally Foxy Loxy.

By the time we met Foxy Loxy I was about to die of tolerating all these rhyming character names. Chicken Little was the only animal I had met so far that had a normal name for a chicken, or any animal. Once we met Foxy Loxy and Chicken Little had told him all about our little adventure, I decided that all these fowl animals in the grips of an egregious fox, who is very well known for his duplicity, would not go without impunity.

So, when Foxy Loxy told us that we were going the wrong way, even though the palace was not too long down the road, I knew he had pernicious actions in mind. Of course the inane birds had not the slightest idea of anything except for the theory that the sky was falling and began to follow him to his cave. This adventure, in my mind, was getting to be a bit flagrant and I had half the mindset of just letting them die in the hands of the foxy culprit. Yet, in the end I elicited that letting these hapless animals die in such a way would be cruel. After all, the adventure I was on was definitely a rare paucity.

Upon saving them from the cunning fox, I was received as a hero and, being as stupid as they were, forgot all about the theory they had about the sky falling. Thus satisfied, we happily walked back to Chicken Little’s house and ate the lovely pick-nick she had made. When I had finished I announced that I was very tired wanted to go home. I mean, chasing a bunch of dim headed birds all day was not easy. They all said their goodbyes’ and I crawled back into the tunnel.

When I reached the other end, I was in my room. Casting my slippers and robe off, I crawled into bed and dreamt of chickens running around the countryside avoiding falling pebbles.

The next morning I woke up to the smell of eggs. ‘How ironic’, I thought. ‘I wonder what Chicken Little would say to that.’ Getting out of bed I walked to the window to watch the pigeons as I always did. I poked my head out and looked down the street. My eyes widened. There, right in the middle of the street where three pigs. I groaned and yet I inwardly smiled. “I hope this becomes a habit.” I said to no one in particular. Sliding my slippers on, I opened my bedroom door and oinked down the steps.

© Copyright 2019 Cassidy Small . All rights reserved.

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