Standing on the short, granite plinth, her eyes rapidly flicking between the other contestants, the suddenly sinking realisation she had made a terrible mistake hit her hard in the pit of her stomach. Wanting nothing more than to bend over and vomit onto the moist, morning grass before her, she managed to keep her composure, not wanting to show any sign of weakness before her peers. The knowing looks on the faces of every other person standing in the huge circle made her want nothing more than to turn around and leave through the formidable steel gate through which she had entered this contest.

The furrowed brows of confusion, the unmistakable contortions of holding back laughter, the squinting glances. Every single person in that arena had the same, or similar, thoughts; “Why did she bring that?”, “Is that...?”, “what the...?”. She began to think, from looking around the ring for what seemed like the thousandth time, that some of the contenders were beginning to change their faces into genuine concern, perhaps they hadn’t thought this through fully themselves. Maybe they were beginning to imagine she was an unknown, yet intimidating foe, who could easily defeat them in battle with... this.

She looked down again, with utter dismay at the thing she held tightly in her left grasp. The small frying pan, still in its protective cardboard packaging stood at odds against the sabres, axes, and multitude of melee weapons the others carried.

Shrugging her shoulders, she mouthed “I didn’t read all the details correctly.”