HERBERT RESTED ON THE BED, with a damp towel on his forehead, burning with a high fever. At a distinct outer, silky voices were heard singing a Gospel song. A few cars and pick-up trucks were parked in front of the Jensen's farm-house.

Outside in the open field, there was a group of twenty people gathered under an oak tree...

Two, torpor youth shovelled and dropped dirt below; it slowly covered the two, small, indigent coffins of Johnny and Jimmy — that were laid to rest in peace.

Martha looked distraught, seeing two of her baby sons being buried, while Roberta and Laura were hugging onto her sides and were crying while noticing the coffins that were almost covered with falling globs of the earth ...

Three black women sang Ave Maria near them.

Among the faces of the mourning people, were the men present, looking pale and anaemic — just as how Herbert was now — lying helpless on his bed, medically affected by the mutilating, killer virus — that was playing an equal role of an invisible God with its omnipresence felt in the atmosphere.

It had even made Herbert, too ill at hand to go to his own sons' funeral.

*

Laura walked her mother into the house with the other folks, who included the parents of Connie and Haley, walking away from the oak tree. Some of the people began to leave in their vehicles...

That was also the last time, Laura saw her best-friends, who came in at that brief moment for the twins' funeral — 'The Farmer Sisters' — were later separated for many long years, from that day onwards.

*

The amber sunset hung at the horizon, and Roberta stood alone looking at the wooden cross with both Johnny and Jimmy's names carved on it. She placed her hand into her pocket and took out a small object, and placed it on the cross...

A Sponge Bob, plastic toy.

When no one was looking at her, Roberta sank on her knees and sobbed bitterly. All of her fingers were buried into the grave's loose soil — as the big 'brother' mourned.