“What? Why?”
“Choose your weapon.”
“How?”
“Choose.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“You will choose.”
Oruna surveyed the empty field, under the empty sky, contemplated grass, dirt, clouds, and sun. They sat, laid down, stood up, spun once around and closed their eyes. With raised arms and wide open hands, their face tilted to the sky, feeling the wind and warmth. They bent over and felt the grass and dirt with fingers and toes. One deep breath in, one deep exhale.
“Choose your weapon.”
“I have chosen.”
A competition.
Haiku weapons wielding words.
The ending begins.