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.”
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.