Just because it never happened doesn’t mean it isn’t true

We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when my faithful Roadtrip Companion challenged me. “Compose the opening paragraph,” he said to me, “of completely fictional history book chapter.” I did. Here’s what never happened:

Released from bondage, but no longer welcome in the land they once ruled, the exiled Klimbaugh people went west, toward present-day Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan.

Their search for religious acceptance would frequently be met by hostility toward their unusual practices, most famously in the Great Hangings of Dushanbe. The Klimbaugh’s movements can be traced until 1400 BCE, after which most scholars agree that the pressures of their hostile surroundings, un-arable land, and lack of social acceptance drove the final vestiges of this once-great kingdom to assimilation or death.

It never mattered why

The chicken crossed the road. The road’s mom called the chicken’s mom.

“You can’t go crossing other people,” the chicken’s mom told her daughter.

A week later, the road crossed the chicken.

“No need to cause a fuss,” the chicken’s mom told her daughter.

“But she’s an asphalt!”

“Don’t use that language! And be the bigger person.”

While the road continued walking all over other people, the chicken never again crossed a road.

The road became a successful hedge fund manager. The chicken never amounted to much. She was too… chicken.

It never mattered why.