My sister loved superheroes.
We would watch DC and Marvel and argue all the time about which was better.
One day, however, my sister didn't want to watch a superhero show anymore.
She had lost her hair then, and was wearing one of the knitted caps that we made together. "Brother," she looked at me, her eyes with a dark tint that I hadn't recognized to be the acceptance of death.
"Hmm?" I hadn't looked at her. I was still finding the show.
"Brother," she tugged my hand, and I turned to watch her. "You need to be a hero, okay?"
"A hero?" I smiled and carefully, gently poked her. "I'm human though."
"You don't need to be super to be a hero, okay?"
I know. You're my hero, Angel.