Anton fell to his knees after he finished shoveling the last of the dirt into his father's impromptu grave in the back yard. His eyes filled with tears as he recited an old French prayer, surprised that he had held out long enough to do this before breaking down. His father had been a hard man, but he had loved him anyway. It was hard watching him deteriorate as he had done over the past few days before finally giving in to this damn superflu that seemed to be killing off everybody. His mother was showing symptoms now, and he wondered fatalistically when he would start. He almost wished he'd go soon - knowing that the pain of watching his mother go the same way as his father was too much to bear.<br/><br/>He dropped the shovel in place, not bothering to put it away - what did it matter now? - before heading back into the house. They had closed the bakery four days ago, once it became clear that Andrè had the superflu. Now it was just him and his mother, and soon not even that... A fresh bout of weeping caused him to delay going back into the house for a few more minutes.<br/><br/>When he did finally make it back in, he headed up to his parents' room to find his mother barely awake in the bed.<br/><br/>"<<Is it done?>>" she asked in a voice so parched and cracked that he hardly recognized it as hers.<br/><br/>"<<Yes, mama. It's done.>>" He came to the side of the bed and held her hand in both of his.<br/><br/>"<<You're a good boy, Anton.>>" She coughed some more before falling asleep again. He sat there, still holding her hand, and wept again.