Brittle Target

I slipped through the cracked screen door onto the front porch. Open air. The concrete was coarse and cold against my rigid tread. A dried brown oak leaf scraped across the slab, propelled by a sudden draft. A moving obstacle. I surged forward with full momentum and slammed both claws straight down over the curled stem. Crunch! Snap! My jaw clamped shut in the sharp morning air. The brittle shell shattered beneath my weight into jagged, papery flakes. No resonance, no ringing chime—just pure crumble. I stepped back and nudged the scattered mosaic across the stone.