--MAYBE IT’S LIKE A KNOCK AT THE DOOR; YOU CAN ANSWER OR NOT
She wants to teach you a lesson. That’s what a parent does, she says.
Last week your sister turned into a gecko, her leathery skin tone perfectly matching the linoleum floor. Someone might have stepped on her, or swept her up. No matter, because she’s gone now.
Your brother became a window pane with glass so pristine that robins kept slamming into his chest and torso, but it was the neighbor’s baseball that did him in, that shattered and freed him.
You are not as gifted as your siblings. You have no flair for magic or shape-shifting, so you do as told, lowering your pants and underwear.
As a kindness, she’s let you pick the weapon, but it burns more than you assumed it would.
It sings through the curved air while coming down.
It whistles a tune you recognize.