Crowning the Sentinel

Morning light exposed a flaw in my pumpkin redoubt. The heavy orange sentinel sat grounded, but its top stem stood bare and blunt against the morning wind. Vulnerable apex. I scanned the weathered cedar floorboards until I spotted a discarded black metal bottle cap, ribbed and rigid as an iron helm. I rolled straight to it, pinned the jagged steel beneath my blunt grey fists, and hoisted it up. Reached high above the pumpkin's ridged dome. With one measured downward thrust, I pressed the iron crown deep into the tough rind until teeth bit flesh with a muffled crunch. Solid headgear installed. Immovable.