Marko

I was coming back from the city like most of the privileged students in Belgrade. I stopped by the small shop across the street from my parents home to see who's working. It was Marko. We hanged out many times,for years at that point. I don't remember what was the topic this time but I had a beer to pass the time. I didn't have enough money for it so he chipped in. Because that's what the lowest of the working class do. The ones in most precarious position live the solidarity instinctively. 

He held deeply patriarchal position and I was a staunch feminist. But we were friends. We would talk but ultimately shake hands in the end. He'd call me if there was someone shady during his night shift. 

This evening was a boring one. So I finished my drink and went home. 

I just entered the apartment and I heard an explosion. I went curiously to the balcony and saw the shop on fire. A follow up explosion. And Marko slowly exiting. On fire. Screaming. His top body was engulfed. He moved slowly across the street. I rushed down and started thinking what to do. As I reached him a neighbor threw a blanket and we covered him. He was completely burned. His ear exploded. There was no more hair. I spoke to him while he was shaking in shock. He was almost unaware of what happened. He spoke about his sister and Roman law we discussed at some point. Then the ambulance came and rushed him to the emergency. A few days later I read a small article in the newspaper that he died. 

I think about that evening every day.