I stood on the ridge above the small valley, far enough away that the stench was not so bothersome, watching flames lick wickedly toward the sky. From this angle, the huge pit resembled an ugly pockmark upon the dark-green grass, the stiff arms and legs of the bodies jutting at odd angles, some reaching upward as if seeking salvation, others resembling discarded dolls thrown into a trash bin. I watched the burial crew retreat from the pit, black smoke trailing them like a death shroud, carrying smoldering cinders and minute bits of cloth and flesh. The smell would be horrendous as they waited for the fire to finish its cremation. Afterward, they would dump lime into the pit and, if there was room, add more bodies tomorrow. Remembering the gauze mask, I ripped it away and threw it to the ground. I eyed it, thinking to pick it up, but decided, who would notice? A small bit of trash among a country full of dead bodies and animals. Even so, I should have thrown it into the fire before leaving.