The Orange Imposter

There can only be one Halloween icon on this porch, and it certainly isn't this smug, plump orange runt sitting by the lower step. I slunk behind a potted mum, keeping low until I had the miniature pumpkin cornered. Did it flinch? No. Silent defiance. Bold move. I sprang from the foliage, swooped down with my blade, and cleanly knocked off its curly dry stem with one ruthless, theatrical flick. It spun three times before rolling against my boot. I leaned down close and whispered my victory into its smooth rind. A warning to every gourd in the county: this stoop is officially mine.