Okay, so the sky is falling

The thing is, Chicken Little, I think it has been falling for years. When I saw little strangely clear/blue pieces of it all around me, I pretended it was rain or sunshine or my imagination. I told other people that they were wrong too. And we all sat together, arms linked in a human chain, and we lived in a land of make believe.

I can see why I did it. Looking up was not nearly as scary when I believed that the sky would stay up there. Now that I can see how the pieces are piling up, how the world looks like a blizzard landscape without the white to make it pure, I wonder at how much more sky there is up there to fall. I reach out to Chicken Little and I tell her that we can make it through this. She shivers and looks at me with a mixture of doubt and contempt. She doesn't say, "I told you so," but I know that she did.

I really thought I could sweep it up, keep it in a pile, "manage" it.

Now I contemplate exits and doors. I wonder about The Truman Show. Maybe it is all some sick joke/experiment. The pieces of sky are quite odd, after all.