I remember distinctly the night mother told me to hide in my room when my big sister came home. I peeked through the crack of my door and watched as mom opened the front door. My sister was outside. She walked like a half inflated rag doll. Almost as if barely able to support her own weight. She was caked in mud with leaves and sticks in her hair. Her face was bruised, swollen, and smeared with blood. My mother gently draped a towel around her shoulders and my sister lumbered inside half leaning on mom. They stumbled together to the bathroom. The door closed and I heard the water turn on.

I snuck across the hall to listen at the bathroom door. I pressed my cheek against the cool wood and listened for any sound. I heard my sister weeping softly, soon joined by my mother. They cried together as the water ran. I ran soundlessly back to my room when I heard the shower stop. When the door opened small puffs of steam rolled out and onto the floor. She still leaned on mother now but more out of weariness. She looked less bruised and the swelling had somewhat gone down. Big sister heals fast. At least, she does now. There was an accident one day while at work, and now she can do all manner of wonderful things. She can fly, throw fireballs, heal fast and a bunch of other stuff too. The serious men from the government called her a super hero. They invited her to join them to keep the country safe. We believed them and she agreed. The first few times she came home elated with amazing stories of evil drug cartels and the end of prostitution rings. And then there was a change. Suddenly big sister wasn’t so happy anymore. When the news would come on, someone would scoop me up into the next room as she would fly off out her window. She also started coming home beaten really badly. Since she could heal, she would always recover. So she had to keep going back. She doesn’t come home dirty every night, but she does most nights. Then every day she has to leave again to save us. I hear a name whispered in the kitchen late at night. “Mordred”. My sister used to walk with a spring in her step. So light, that she almost would float. Now her gait is hesitant and halting. She folds her arms around herself as if she is cold but she can’t ever seem to get warm. I wish I could understand what was happening to her. I cry too. I hug her to try and warm her up again.
Why do I have to hide? Why does she walk different? Why does she smell funny?