Rock, paper, scissors

Paper. I won.

Your fist clenched into a rock mocked. Paper rips like skin sliced by a blade. But scissors cannot cut through flint, you said. Hardness trumps softness every time, the way a man's kiss crushes a woman's lip.

I smiled. We need proof.

My hand opened, your fingers clenched.

You hit me.

Palm turns into paper. 

Paper turns into leaf. 

Leaf becomes water.   

Water becomes womb.

Womb encloses fist.

Rock, red as a heart, softens.

Yields.