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Norwich University's Literary and Arts Journal

The Chameleon

The Chameleon
The Chameleon

Tiny Dragon Slayer

I climb the tree, reaching so high above a canopy of mostly barren branches, that I swear I can stick my hand out and touch the bright white stars. Into a world where birds sitting in their nests become dragons, and this tree is a tower belonging to a stone castle. The cardinals breathe fire, and I remain unburnt. My own breath coming out in frosty puffs. A tiny wooden sword tucked into my belt.

I am flying within the clouds, a harsh winter gust of wind making me wrap my arms tightly around the trunk. I’m reaching for stars and scaling the walls of a great castle to slay dragons. My older brother climbs up after me, eager to see the fantastical world I described above. Heartbeat racing against my chest with excitement.

My fingers are cold, cheeks red, and bitten, but none of that matters because I finally get to show someone my favorite secret. Finally convinced him to come outside and pay me some attention. Escaping the orange burn of lights and loud carried voices of our parents, arguing again. I move quickly, an expert from memorizing my handholds and the best places to drag myself up. I’m at least a foot shorter than him.

“There’s nothing here,” he says. His face falling with disappointment.  Light brown curls falling over into his green eyes as he shakes his head. Looking, but not seeing.

I pinch his forearm through the layers of his jacket and point up to the stars. Setting myself down on the branch beside him. Both of our weights make it dip. Up here is everything. There are no rules, no parents, and no school. Up here is the sweet perfume of pine and freedom.

“Yes, there is,” I insist, “Open your eyes and see.”

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