
…ong skirts floating around elegant ankles, in streets that smelled of jasmine, before the war came. And then you see a man lifting a tiny corpse, impossibly small, wrapping him in an emergency blanket, gold glinting in the dying light of the day. A gesture of complete futility. One more, slightly larger, body is raised up and placed on the deck, dead, gone; a mother, her baby, her older child, three lives ended for the crime of running from carnage in search of a safe haven.