The Chameleon

By Charissa Gingerich


The chameleon spoke.

“Become like me,” he said. “Become like them. Let go of yourself and become what you are not.”

No, I cried. To release me so fully is torture. I would lose myself. I must remain.

“I do not lose me. I stay of shape and size. But I join. Join me.”

If I blend, what of my color? I will become a pale Nothing, a homeless one.

“The Homeless Ones are not what you think.”

What are they? They are without meaning.

“They give meaning.”

But I cannot. If I let go, who will hold me up? What will happen to my story?

A sigh. “To let go… I know. To surrender, ‘knowing nothing of the fall.’”

I pleaded, silently, for release from this call.

But the chameleon would not.

“To become what you cannot but what you would, you must.”

To become what I would… but perhaps I no longer desire.

“You will never stop wanting.”

I want, but I cannot.

“You cannot. Therefore you must.”


A whisper: I will die.

“You will die.”

A moment.

I let go.

Charissa Gingerich lives in Ohio and is a student at Rosedale Bible College. She enjoys writing fiction, including short stories, and poetry.