Published by Pearl Editions, LLC

Copyright 2010 Georgiann Baldino

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By Georgiann Baldino

Many of the Muslims had lived in Siska, Croatia, all their lives, but now their former neighbors evicted them. “Go to Bosnia.”

One man hurled a stone. “Monkeys!” Others hurled bricks, boulders, or manure.

While their homes burned behind them, the refugees took to the road. Spring had just arrived. The sun warmed this wind-swept town but not its people, so the refugees closed ranks, sheltering the children the best they could. Those with sufficient strength raised their parcels to shield themselves. No one fought back. Even if they wanted to, they had no guns to defend themselves.

Grandmothers looked down, studying the uneven ground. Beyond the normal fear of falling, anyone who twisted an ankle would get left behind. None of the refugees looked back. Except Corba.

His clothing hung loose; the flesh had withered away beneath his worn suit. Though his skin was dull and gray, the light in Corba’s eyes blazed. Their glassy surface reflected this most recent injustice. He glared at the attackers as if wanting to pick a fight, peering forward and back and focusing his eyes like camera lenses, photographing the details and capturing close-ups of people who would rather smash him in the face than look at him.

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