Chameleon 2019 Issue

Chameleon

2019

2019 Chameleon Editor-in-Chief

Mary Beth Davis ’19

Faculty Advisor Professor Brett Cox

Designer

Crystal Drown ’19

The Allan Nason Prose Prize

Allan Leonard Hastings Nason (1889 - 1970) class of 1920, was an untamed spirit, and it shows in his writing. He wrote about war and soldiers, and his characters are not respectful of authority. Typically, they are trying to find a way to come out ahead, though not at the expense of the war effort. His accounts of war focus on an individual in relation to the whole war machine, and the way the machine grinds down. The Allan Nason Prose Prize is awarded to the best piece of prose on Corps of Cadets life or war.

The Robert Halleck Poetry Prize

Robert Halleck ’64, has written poetry for over 50 years and published three poetry books. His latest, Cabbages and Kings, is available as an e-book on Amazon. His works appear frequently, depending on the level of rejection notices, in various magazines and poetry blogs. He lives in Del Mar, California, with two retired racing greyhounds and fills his days with poetry, golf, and volunteer caregiving with a local hospice. The Robert Halleck Poetry Prize is awarded to the best poem by a Norwich student.

Chameleon Award for Outstanding Achievement in Creative Writing

The Chameleon Award for Outstanding Achievement in Creative Writing is decided on by Chameleon editors and highlights the best creative writing piece written by a Norwich University student.

Table of Contents Cover

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MOTA, Mary Beth Davis ���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������2 From the Stars, Benjamin Zacher ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������3 Conflict Resolution, Sebastian Lasher ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������6 Rain Drops, Mary Beth Davis ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������7 Window, Faith Ayoola Grace Obegdami ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 10 Voice Box, Faith Ayoola Grace Obegdam ���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 11 Sensory, Faith Ayoola Grace Obegdam ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 14 Fear the Over Come, Mary Beth Davis ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 15 Mixed Voices, Alain Cropper-Makidi ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 17-19 Hometown Feeling, Andrew Guiberson ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 22 Sleepwalker, Benjamin Zacher ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 23-24 Me, Crystal Drown ���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 26 Baby Girl, Alain Cropper-Makidi �������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 27 The Blank Page, Alison Pearle ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 30 My Wayward Mind, Mary Beth Davis ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 31 Last of Love, Anonymous ���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 34 Lawyers and Coffee, Benjamin Zacher ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 35 Train in Vain, Benjamin Zacher ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 38-39 PHOTO CREDITS: COVER - World, Crystal Drown; 1 - Butterfly, Crystal Drown; 4 - Ursula, Crystal Drown; 5 - Still Standing, Crystal Drown; 8 - Ice Magic, Crystal Drown; 9 - Blue, Crystal Drown; 12 - Magic, Crystal Drown 13 - Magic Too, C. Drown; 16 - Wounder, Crystal Drown; 20 - STUDENT; 21- Frozen In Time, Crystal Drown; 23-24 - Night in Salem, Crystal Drown; 25 - Self, Crystal Drown, 28 - Afternoon Bath, Chiara Lam; 29 - Carchitecture, Chiara Lam; 32 - Lost in Thought, Crystal Drown; 33 - Lost in the Maze , Crystal Drown; 36 - So Real, Crystal Drown; 37 - Transcontinental, Rebecca Friend; 40- The Helm, Rebecca Friend; BACK COVER - Norwich University, Chiara Lam #23-24

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MotA Mary Beth Davis

I am medicinal marijuana.

I can get you so high on laughter and good times, that you will look yourself into the third eye, just to see paradise.

I am a box of chocolates, because I never know what will be inside.

Some days there is sweet caramel oozy out, with laughter attached to the end.

Other days it is a unscented coconut chunk, releasing waths of despair and depression.

I am painless depression, surfacing at the bottom of the fishbowl.

The realization you get when the fish, Is no longer swimming.

I am the warm pound cake, my mother would set on the window sill.

A strong, warm scent, that could overcome any fall day in the neighborhood.

Sometimes chocolate or pumpkin flavored, still loved by all the kids playing in the yard.

I am an unused metaphor, waiting for a writer to pick me up and use me for a book.

A lonely metaphor longing to be, accepted on the pages of a paperback.

I am the sweet embrace, after an elongated separation.

A desperate hug that can not be broken, by bad weather or a fever-ridden cold.

Miraculous temptation, Given to the lost lovers.

I am a cellphone, used everyday by everyone.

No one notices my battery is dying, so I am never plugged in and always dying.

I am Me A girl, with depression and anxiety.

I can never truly exist without you.

And you are me, Staring back at the blank face in the mirror.

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From the Stars Benjamin Zacher

No one can hear you scream when you’re alone. When space engulfs you, you’re nothing more than a microscopic speck in a sea of stars.

Jim didn’t realize that when he accepted the mission to travel to space.

To him, it was an honor. An opportunity to be one of the greats, a revered astronaut with the likes of Armstrong and Aldrin. It was a childhood dream.

All those years playing with toy rocket ships led up to this excursion.

But nothing could prepare him for being stranded. His connection to the ship snipped during his efforts to repair a puncture on the side. The colossi structure that once housed him now seemed like a faraway mirage, drifting off into the endless black void.

Planets provided different shades of vast colors throughout the darkness.

Stars surrounded him, supplying yellow dots both near and far.

Galaxies slowly swirled in the distance, monstrously shadowing over the helpless man.

His attempts to flail about were worthless. Jim was nothing more than an abandoned particle, alone in the universe, inferior to the astronomical natures of outer space.

In a last-ditch effort, he called out from behind his helmet.

But no one can hear you scream when you’re alone.

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Conflict Resolution Sebastian Lasher

Another lash for the Boy. It was meant to teach, Not Destroy.

You are Right.

He is Wrong.

Two sides, Hardly a Fight.

But the winner, Always shown in Light.

You know what You saw.

You Punish the Fatal Flaw.

This had to be done.

Are you Good, And he Bad? No answer.

But still, It is Sad. Now look Down, From your Stand.

The Blood Smeared, Across the Land.

Knowing, You were Right And He was Wrong.

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Rain Drops Mary Beth Davis

Heart break.

That is what I want to talk about I want to express the deep throbbing in my soul, The wound so deep, I can not forget.

A pain that will never be unfelt.

I laugh now, looking back.

Realizing that what I felt was trapped.

I never heard the words you said.

I only felt the love you lied about.

I sit now, under twinkly lights and behind closed doors, Discovering my body. My mind.

Wondering if you ever felt despair, if you ever really cared.

My heart is full of love and temptation, But can you really love someone if you do not love yourself.

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Window

Faith Ayoola Grace Odegbami

With your eyes I see yonder And I saw death coming Softly like inch worms after gentle rain falls hard from the heavens With your eyes wide I saw day break and nightfall, That gleaming, light within you Tells no tales of failure but ones of triumph teeming with The wit of trojan soldiers When your eyes were closed I saw the things you feared And I have felt the way they shake your core and churn your good sprites When your eyes Filled with tears I felt The hurricanes of misfortune, Overcome you and your shield crumble from the shear force of animosity Your eyes have shown me more then I could ever see on my own And even though your lights glow dim and are soon to fade The way I feel and felt for you will never truly fade away

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Voice Box Faith Ayoola Grace Odegbami

Take me out to pasture When my luster lacks from my eyes When my soul no longer echoes If I fail to cry out to mutter words Cut free my windpipe And dangle my vocal cords for all to see If and when my ears go deaf Uproot the drum and bring it to the noise Tear me limb from limb All for the sake of sensory Ligament to ligament Sensations that sent my nerves to scream Letting words escape from my broken voice box To say that I lived to tell the story To usher in the truth

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Sensory

Faith Ayoola Grace Odegbami

They say it’s actions before words, I say it’s traction on tires, Give me any slippery slope promise I’ll level it with my soul I have dealt with the inevitable I have kneeled before my endeavors And stumbled with these two feet I say it’s words before action Yes, words full of passion and bone breaking adjectives that make you want to participate in the action Words fueled the world before there were words I’m talking Neanderthal interactions That cause men the bludgeon there fellow man Like irate savages

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Fear the Over Come Mary Beth Davis

Fear the Over Come I have often been told there is no pain without suffering And I know this, from experience, that this is very true Whether the suffering be your own or others It is present Fear can only stop someone if they cease to continue on And I know this, from experience, someone’s fear can stop them They can stand in the shadows near their fear But when they stop moving, that is when fear takes over Fear can take over, at any moment And I know this, from experience, I have seen it One day you will no longer exist Pain is weakness that is still in the body and has not left Suffering means you are alive And I know this, from experience, my friend When you no longer suffer, you will die

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Mixed Voices Alain Cropper-Makidi

ENTRY 1: AUCTION DAY It had only been four days since I was bought from the Greens. The Green House was known for cutting off the body parts of slaves and letting them bleed out slowly or waiting for them to die of infection.

They used to take other slaves to the field and pick different parts to cut off. If they cut off too much and you couldn’t work anymore, they’d leave the bodies in the field as an example of what happens when you make mistakes. The saving grace of that house, Mistress Taylor, taught me how to read and write. She took much pity on slaves, even convinced her father to let me live in the big house. He didn’t like how close his daughter and I were. He found us laying in bed together and had me beat for hours on that long night. I would be dead if she did not cry for me. Master Green sold me two days later, but before the carriage left, Mistress Taylor slipped this book in my cage. On the inside, there was a reminder never to let them know I could read. That was the last piece I had of Mistress Taylor; Lord bless her soul.

ENTRY 2: THE BURNS It was mid-August when I arrived at the Burns’ plantation. At first sight, the Burns’ house was just like the Green’s house. It was a big house surrounded by luscious fields of cotton; everything was pure and

white except for the inside. Once they unloaded us, we were split into two groups; house and field. Miss Taylor made sure that they knew the kind of work I did while at Green’s plantation. Those that were picked for the field were taken away to start work with the overseers. The rest of us were brought into the house and greeted by Master Howard Burns. Master Burns was a tall white man with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a cracked smile. He was dressed in a bright yellow suit and carried a cane, but had no limp. When he spoke, there would be times where he would yell “Hush!” but no one would be speaking.

“Now I would like to welcome you lucky few to the Burns’ house or for you the ‘Big House.’” He spoke to us like we were both his guest and servants. “Each of you will be working close to some slaves that have been here longer, so I do hope that you learn quickly because lunch is at two o’clock and I’d hate for you to get branded on your first day. Now get to work! And HUSH!” He never stopped smiling for a second while speaking. In the kitchen is where we were introduced to a pregnant Mistress Mary, Master Burns’ wife, who told us how things in the kitchen ran. I tried to listen, but it was too hard to pay attention with the screams of men and women outside of the house being branded and whipped. She noticed my wandering

eyes and walked over to me. She slapped me with the back of her hand then grabbed my face and said “Take your eyes away from me again, and I’ll make sure your first brand will be on your god damn face. Do we understand each other?” I nodded my head fearfully in agreement. This was only the first day of my life on the Burns’ plantation.

ENTRY 3: VOICES AND JEALOUSY After a few months of working at the Burns’ plantation, I started seeing that Master Howard was losing a lot of his character. He was spending more time alone, arguing with himself, and becoming angry with just about everything and everyone. A few days ago he became angry with an older slave named Jonah…

Master Howard burned him alive after he whispered something in his ear during dinner. Master claimed Jonah was a demon that was one of the devil’s servants. Jonah had been working at the Burns’ plantation longer than I. Master Howard started shouting saying “Men! Take him away. He is a plague on this house. Tie him to the post and get the firewood. Once Jonah was tied down, Master Howard himself lit the fire. Jonah cried out “Master why me?

I’ve always been by your side. Brand me instead!”

Master told him to HUSH! And said “You’re the one who has been telling me to hurt my unborn. You can no longer hide under that black skin!” A few other slaves and I watched from the balcony as Jonah died in the fire crying for his life.

A couple of days later Master Howard called me into his room. He was quite disheveled when I entered. “Ah Sadie I’m glad to see you, there’s an issue, and I require

your assistance.” “What is the issue Master?”

I said fearfully. He proceeded to tell me while advancing towards me, “You know Mary’s situation at the moment, and I think you’re the solution. For you see God tells me that he is upset with Mary and the child she carries.” I wanted to decline, but I knew my fate if I tried. Before I left his chamber, he whispered in my ear saying “This child will be a blessing on this house.” Unsure of what he meant, I left and began walking down the hallway where I ran into an angry Mistress Mary. I tried to apologize but was silenced by her hand. “ You may have won his favor, but in me, you have made an enemy.” Then while putting her hand on her stomach and she said “Whatever you birth will be dealt with. Now leave us!” She then entered Master Howard’s chamber. I returned to my room, and I could not lie still for even a moment. My body shook without rest as I laid there crying, wishing for the pain to stop.

I wanted to scream, but I was unable to utter a sound.

My mind became blank as I fell asleep with tears in my eyes.

ENTRY 4: BROTHERS It has been six years since I came to the Burns’ plantation. I’ve become something of a second wife to Howard. He claims that I am his “light.” Mistress Mary, on the other hand, has only grown a greater hatred for me and even Victor, my child. She gave birth to Marshal five years ago, but due to issues during his birth, he was born very different. He struggles with thinking clearly and talking. This has made Howard more distant towards him. Howard still cared for Marshal but only because he was his firstborn.

However, Howard always favored Victor, he often

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exclaimed that Victor would keep us in God’s grace.

Howard would spend more time with Victor than Marshal, and this enraged Mistress Mary. So much in fact, that she would take it out on other slaves.

When Marshal would have tantrums, she would let him beat and brand child slaves because he could not harm Victor. Mary turned Marshal into a monster and decide to make sure that I witnessed the torture of my people. Every day, I would remind Victor that he was special and that the Burns are not our family, but those suffering in the fields are. I would plead with Howard to stop Marshal, but Mary would tell him that the children and women were secretly trying to harm Victor and I. There was one day when Marshal was going to brand a slave and Victor tried to save him because he could no longer take watching as children who looked like him were being tortured. Marshal branded him that day on his back. I tried to console Victor that night and told him one day we would be free.

they embraced each other for a moment. Victor grabbed a knife out of his back pocket and stabbed Marshal while hugging him. Marshal cursed at Victor as he bled in his arms stuttering out, “You damn abomination, you weren’t supposed to live.”

“Dear brother, I was never supposed to enter this world, but I’ll make sure you leave it,” Victor said as he let Marshal’s body fall to the floor. Mary broke down in tears and clung to Marshal’s still body. At that moment, the slaves surrounding Howard’s bed grabbed Mary and pulled her away from Marshal.

Victor turned to me and said, “We are free, mother.”

Mistress Mary was tied to a support beam where she was heard crying and cursing. While walking out of the house, a couple of slaves lit fires, burning everything from the house to the field. Mary could be heard sobbing from the inside. Victor and I watched as the house we once were trapped in came crashing down. On that day everyone was free.

The End.

ENTRY 5: FALSE BLESSING Today was Victor’s 16th birthday. He has grown so much since he was a baby. However, today was not a day of celebration; Howard had fallen ill. Victor, Mary, Marshal, and a few other house slaves, and I sat at his bedside. In Howard’s last dying moments he called out “Victor, my son, my blessing. You have grown so much. I hope that you learn to love your brother as much as I loved you.” Victor replied by saying, “I am a blessing on this house.” Then whispered into Howard’s ear, “but I will never love that damn Monster!” Marshal walked over to Victor;

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Hometown Feeling Andrew Guiberson

about the sunset on a field of grass and weeds past the brick listening closely for a second, cars stop passing in the distance Little North East Creek runs forever the echo of time gone, but still catching up to me

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Sleepwalker Benjamin Zacher

It is easy to toss aside the sleepwalker as just another strange occurrence. But when it has happened so many times? When little Billy cradles back-and-forth in his bed in the pitch black, the only source of light emanating through the crevices of his door in front of him, you know something is wrong.

But only he knows that there is something wrong. The tall, threatening figure that is shrouded in darkness and creepily approaching him? They don’t really mean any harm, but little Billy never really thought about that.

He thinks that the man walking through his door frame might be a demon, sent from the depths of that “Hell” that he’s heard his daddy mention before. Maybe the figure is a ghost from the local cemetery, little Billy has walked over there sometimes just to play with his friends. It could even be just a friendly person, lost in the dark without any light to guide him.

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So why was this man putting a pillow over Billy’s mouth? All he’s known pillows to be for were to sleep on, they’re comfortable if you’re sleeping on them… but having one over you? This was such a strange feeling, he thought. And now he could smell smoke and see flames casually flowing through the hallway, through the little specks of flight that the pillow couldn’t cover.

And that was the last sight little Billy could ever see. He never realized just how dangerous sleepwalkers could be. All those times his dad strolled into his bedroom, he just thought it was funny… he never could have imagined that his sleepwalking father would be little Billy’s worst nightmare.

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ME

Crystal Drown

You look at me You see a good mood If you truly looked You would see deep hollow eyes That shed endless tears of pain I’m Trapped In a deep dark hole Where all the people I love and once loved throw stones at me Spoken stones Their jagged edges cut deep It’s all I see through the darkness I wish life would end soon So, the pain will go away

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BABY GIRL Alain Cropper – Makidi

She’d kill me if I ever told But those seeds I’ve already sowed So baby girl grow Baby girl grow I was just a bee looking for nectar But dripping with it is how I left her Because I couldn’t wait to return home And tell the hive about this flower’s moans Forgetting the fact the I had left her all alone In darkness, hoping that my lies of return Would keep her satisfied And they did, because even bullshit can keep a flower fertilized So baby girl grow Baby girl grow

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Now I understand why you were able to bloom In such a dark room I also understand that the love once Yearned for me Is now hatred that wishes to rip my Undeserved wings from me And then consume me I know it’s in you And I’ll let you So our baby girl can grow Grow, and grow Baby girl

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The Blank Page Alison Pearle

A peaceful old man sighed contentedly as he surveyed the familiar bustle of the train station.

Early each morning the old man would wake up to do two things that he loved most in the world: making tea and reading. It was a quiet life, but the man enjoyed it. He seldom saw new faces at his tea cart, but the regular customers had become like dear friends to him. Those who took the time to chat with the old man held a special place in his heart. Among these, the old man had a favorite: the business man.

He was young, perhaps too unimaginative and materialistic, but every morning he would stop to buy a cup of tea before he took the train to work. No matter how late the businessman was, he would always make a little extra time to ask after the old man.

Sometimes when the businessman would stop at the tea cart, he would ask how the old man’s reading was going. On one day, the old man replied, “I have been trying to read, but this

one page keeps changing on me. I can’t seem to get past it.” The businessman thought he understood what the old man meant. “If you would let me have a look at it, I am sure I could help explain it to you,” he said. The old man smiled shrewdly, “You may try.”

The old man handed him the book. The businessman took it and looked at the page. It was blank. “Well no wonder you are stuck, there is nothing written. How could you make up your mind as to what it means?”

The old man smiled and said, “My dear friend, the page is not blank, only your mind is. This page is full of adventures; I just don’t know which one to choose. Look with your heart and not with your eyes. The most beautiful stories are those that cannot be put into words; rather, they only exist to the extent you are willing to let your imagination soar.”

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MY WAYWARD MIND MARY BETH DAVIS

My Wayward Mind Odd and uneventful stress keeps me up at night Sleeping was never easy and I don’t think it will get any better I question day by day if I did anything right My only last request is wishing I could send you a letter Even though you are gone, you shine so bright I hope that one day I will be the trendsetter I lay awake hoping life would be so still Taking medication just to ease my wayward mind Eventually, I will have to pay the bill Wondering if you were really confined I’ve forgotten my own free will Imagining the help you could have declined Worried about my late night conversation Arguing within myself about your last innocent word I have often considered rehabilitation Upset at myself because I should have heard I was present for your confliction But from this situation I have learned

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Last of Love ANONYMOUS

Where is the passion of love?

I hear of him in words of rhyme.

It cannot fall from just above?

He reminding me of eternal time.

Do not speak to me, this great sorrow.

In desire to laugh and lie, dead or high, Brings to me not, every tomorrow.

The tears I shed, waiting forever aby.

To be thrown to, like love, to wolves.

You will find me alone dear, Beneath the prance and dance of hooves.

Greatly I promise my heart is near.

I hold worth of your chivalry rescue.

Find me and swear it, “I be not a parvenu�

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LAWYERS AND COFFEE Benjamin Zacher

My old mentor used to tell me, Before her career was ended, That the only time a lawyer can give up, Is when it’s all over.

That is coffee.

They have discovered my truth, Like the liquid, bitter and dark.

Red is on my hands.

The liquid inside me.

That is coffee.

The sweet aroma fills the air.

My lungs inhale the steam, While the liquid, bitter and warm, Engulfs my veins.

That is coffee.

They scream for my head. “Order!”

The aroma is not alone in the air.

Life has no sense and is close to an end.

But I accept it.

That is coffee.

The sugar swirls in the dark, And the verdict is handed down.

My mask, unveiled. My career, ruined.

I take one gulp.

That is coffee.

My wrists cuffed, the metal clanging.

I oblige as a smirk grows on my face.

I take one final look at my mug. It is empty.

I cough up blood.

My blood.

My choice.

It’s all over.

That is poison.

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Train in Vain Benjamin Zacher

Alice zeroed in on her cherry-colored lipstick on the dresser, subtly picking it up as the dim lighting provided a shadowy vibe around her. Her room was engulfed in the stereotypical teenager-filled photographs one would see from a young lady on the cusp of adulthood. Her fingers uncapped the lipstick as she applied it on her lips, peeking up at the mirror occasionally to ensure her looks were appropriate.

Something was different about the photographs Alice had circling around her mirror, however. Stapled onto the wood, some of them were not even photographs, but instead, were covered in text. Ones that were covered in words like “murdered,” “body found,” “another crime.” Pictures with the faces of young women accompanied the violent words.

Alice placed her lipstick back into a wooden case, looking up and delicately putting an index finger on a clipping to her right. Sliding her finger slowly down the black and white picture, Alice bit her lip, feeling a sense of anticipation. With a sliver of excitement, she put her finger back on the dresser and eyed herself in the mirror.

“Body of 20-year-old Shelley Jones found in Alpine Forest” was printed in bold lettering, perfectly distinguishable in black and easily noticeable on the white background. Next to the headline was Shelley’s picture, her slightly tanned face supplemented by a smile and nearly surrounded by brunette hair. Above

Shelley’s picture, applied in black ink, were the words “My best friend.”

In the same delicate fashion that she felt the picture, Alice slid her fingers down onto a handle underneath her mirror. Feeling the slick wood, she lightly pulled open her dresser drawer and reached in with both hands, mindlessly searching around the plastics and metals before satisfyingly pulling out what she was hoping to find.

She placed an object covered in cloth on her dresser next to the wooden case, before setting down a Walkman directly in front of her. The lone article remaining in her hand was a cassette case, which depicted a guitarist about to smash his instrument onto a stage floor. In small white lettering were the words “The Clash”, complemented by an all-caps “LONDON” in pink and “CALLING” in green.

Alice popped the cassette into the mechanism, pulled out a set of earbuds from her pocket, and placed them in her ears. Pressing play, the Walkman booted up as Mick Jones’s vocal filled Alice’s ears at nearly full volume as a smile appeared on her face. She plopped the case onto another clipping on her dresser, one that read “Alpine Hill killer identified as 22-year old Tommy Field.”

As the lyrics poured into Alice, she never heard the predicted shutting of her front door. But she knew it was coming.

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“Alice,” the male voice called out, inaudible to Alice’s ears. No answer.

“Alice?!”

His muffled screams gradually became clearer as he moved closer to Alice’s room. If Alice had any intent of hearing his calls, she certainly did not show it. The male moved to and from each room and hallway with care, attempting to locate the woman he was so determined to find.

Alice reached for the green cloth that she intricately left in front of her, and slowly removed it from what it was covering. In its place, a sleek, silver revolver, its handle decorated in a pristine black that made it easy to grip. Encased in the deadly firearm were six bullets, all ready to be fired off towards the person or target of Alice’s choosing.

The door to Alice’s bedroom creaked open as the male figure shuddered in return, peering in a quick glance before his eyes turned to terror. His pupils raced up and down the sides of the mirror, taking notice at each and every piece of newspaper that lined the wooden structure. Standing in front of those clippings was a female figure, her back turned to the man. “…Alice?” His voice muttered in fear, realizing that his truth was finally unveiled. That his dearly beloved Alice knew.

Alice’s mouth opened, her back still turned to the man.

“You must explain why this must be, did you lie when you spoke to me? Did you stand by me?”

She grabbed the pistol from her dresser, caressing it with very deliberate strokes, feeling around the sensitive trigger.

With the utmost care, Alice turned her head towards the figure behind her. She gave a maniacal grin, before

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swinging her whole body around, revolver in hand.

“Hello, Tommy.”

Alice picked the gun up from beside her, and without hesitation, pulled on the trigger. One bullet. Two bullets. Three bullets. The metallic cases rang out as they left the firearm, pierced through the air, and ripped through Tommy’s shirt. Penetrating his skin with insufferable pain, Tommy fell back as the blood poured from his chest and abdomen and his screeches went unheard, still being drowned out over the music.

As Tommy lay dying on the floor, Alice reached behind her and pulled out one more item from her wooden case. She grasped the piece and made her way over to Tommy, standing with stern intimidation over him.

She unfolded her hand and out fell a circular gold piece of jewelry. The object fell onto Tommy’s chest as he continued to cough up violent amounts of blood, using the last of his energy to look up at Alice.

A final gunshot rang out from inside the building, as Tommy slumped over onto the ground with a bullet fully ingrained in his head. Alice towered proudly on top of the corpse, satisfied with revenge. Her eyes peered over her work, as her vision became focused on the piece of jewelry that found its way on the ground next to Tommy’s body.

The wedding ring was no longer gold. It was covered in red.

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To submit pieces online, please visit Chameleon at norwich.edu/cola.