B is for Baby . . .
Virgin vaguely recalled exchanging a rake for his fishing pole. Pa folded his arms as Virgin's shoulders slumped.
He was ten years old and already running from the blaze on the horizon where his parents and siblings, servants and friends burned in the flames.
The place off the smell of sadness; salt mixed with ashes and dead rose petals. A cloak of tragedy settled over all those who entered to walk the paths between the burial plots.