Now that the sky has fallen, just as Chicken Little predicted, the town’s inhabitants lament not heeding her warnings.
“We all dismissed her as some free-range radical bent on ruffling a few feathers,“ Loosey Goosey said, voicing the sentiments of countless barnyard residents. “Turns out it wasn’t an opinion as much as a conclusion based on data analysis and peer reviewed research,” she broke down sobbing. “She was right. The sky has fallen. And we might be enveloped in darkness forever.”
Lucky Ducky attempted to console Ms. Goosey, “Hey, we all thought the chick was cray. You can’t blame us. She spent months cooped up in that incubator scratching out calculations—not a peep out of her for months. Then one day she suddenly crosses the road, running around like her head was cut off, cackling about ‘the sky falling,’ and squawking about hatching a plan to prevent ‘the end of life as we know it’—she sounded cracked. We didn’t want to egg her on by giving her a speck of attention. “
No one would blame Chicken Little if she was stuffed with resentful ‘I told you so-s’, but Ms. Little was diplomatically cagey in her comments, “Truths can be difficult and downright frightening. It’s instinctual to dismiss a messenger, cling to a comfortable world view, and bury one’s head in the sand—even if you’re not an ostrich. I didn’t factor that into my messaging so my attempt to stave off disaster ran afoul.”