The dog barked, I awoke and there they were on the floor. Dawn was yawning in the cobwebby windows and I saw Ezra’s white butt, a little spastic moon bobbing around in the gray. Of course there was noise, not much but enough, the slopping, slopping, you could hear it over the barking, and thunder, over the rooster gagging out by the fence, surely not a thing you’d want to wake up to, even if the humper and humpee weren’t your boyfriend and nipple-pierced little sister. Yes, we’d let him move in. This single-room dump we shared was so tight you had to step out almost to make a decision. The dog looked at them, then at me. What would you do? I plucked the pottery ashtray off the nightstand and bounced it off the back of Ezra’s head. He let out a yelp.

Oww, oww, oww!

Oh, oh, said my sister.

You sick sack of shit! I hollered.

Lemme finish, he yelled, butt bobbing.

My sister shifted to accommodate more, her oldest, most famous trick. Ezra’s legs disappeared. The dog lurched back, slobbery ashtray clamped in its teeth, stumpy tail twitching. I jerked the ashtray away and hurled it again.

Oww, oww, oww, Ezra yelped, sinking.

Oh, oh, said my sister.

The battered rooster flapped onto the windowsill, croaking and shrieking. The thunder clamored. The rooster smacked his beak on the glass. Ezra was in now up to his chest. Then his neck, then chin.

Lemme finish, he yelled. His nose disappeared.

He’d had this coming. He was worse than the others, the sick fuck. The room went white with lightning. Ezra’s brain lit up like an x-ray. The very air we were breathing was burning. In he went to the eyebrows, then scalp. Then he was gone.

Bastard! I screamed. Stop abusing my sister!