Cracking the Pinecone

The wooden step was cold. In front of me lay a brown, spiky ball with woody scales. It blocked my path down to the dark grass. I kicked it once. It rolled against the riser and did not break. Defiant. I stepped over it, raised both fists high, and brought them down straight onto its center. A sharp snap echoed off the wall. The spiky shell split into dry wooden splinters beneath my knuckles. The path is clear now.