The train coughed and sputtered as it crossed the border into Serbia. Bohemian forests in the blackness had lulled me into the semi-conscious slumber to which travelers are accustomed, but Belgrade and a sister I had not seen in years awaited me, taunting me with the promises of sleep for my body and desperate answers for my soul.

Both of these were a laughable fantasy replaced with the concertina wire and florescent lights that awoke me at 3:00am. Disembarking Hungarian passengers shuffled down the cramped hallway as I traced the outline of the documents and forint tucked in the cargo pant pockets, safe from enterprising pickpockets.

My heart lurched as they slipped through the frame of my solitary compartment—the couple with oiled-leather skin and raven locks dragging their frayed nylon bags behind them. His faded AC/DC t-shirt and her faux snake-skinned leggings did little to disguise them. They were gypsies, studying me as I them as if some sort of staring contest, where the lower would meet impending doom.

The constant sleeplessness failed me and I blinked first. They shifted their feet, sitting down on the thinly-cushioned bench across from mine. As the train started to move, their bags tipped over and the contents of their lives—the worn wool blankets, flowering onion bulbs and carrots, and homemade bottles of keifer—along with it. The woman bent over, scooping up the food, handing it to me, motioning me to eat. They spoke no English and I no Serbian, but his penchant for Latin American telenovelas and my life in Spain found the two of us speaking as his woman looked on shyly.

He rambled on about the discrimination his Roma people faced in Serbia—barred from Serbian public schools, denied citizenship and passports, and forced to carry their own special identification cards marking their Roma ethnicity. As he bemoaned their existence, his woman pursed her lips tightly, cradling in her bony arms a package wrapped in greasy and wrinkled brown paper. She smiled as our eyes met, but the trickles of sweat crept down the sides of her face, gaining momentum as the man lamented.

I nodded off to sleep mid-rant but the sudden lurch jolted me awake. Silence fell upon us as I eyed the couple, who exchanged glances, lowering their voices to a panicked whisper.

We heard him before we saw him. A monstrous soldier had boarded the cabin, striding down the train aisles until his silhouette rested against the half-opened mahogany sliding door of the compartment. Click. Swoosh. He opened it entirely and stood there—his steel eyes a pendulum between the three of us. He barked in Serbian and I thought it best merely to produce my passport. He smiled as his eyes rested upon the gold-embossed American eagle cover, jostling the strap of his AK-47 to reduce its strain as he flipped through the passport pages like a children’s book. He politely nodded, smiled, and returned it to me with the most delicate of care.

The Roma couple was not as lucky.

The soldier stepped completely through the frame, suffocating us with his faded Army fatigues, rusted weapon, and stench of liquor. He stood facing the couple, who looked up at him cowering as he demanded to see their documents. Before they could produce them, the soldier grabbed their nylon bags, scattering the modest contents onto the dirty cracked floor. The couple sat resigned, averting his gaze as they handed over the documents.

The Serbian shuffled through them nonchalantly in an ironic nicety before pointing the barrel of his rifle towards the package in the woman’s arms. He barked at her and she shook her head. He barked again, raising his voice as she shook her head with a panicked fervor.

“Get out.” The giant turned to me, pointing his finger towards the hallway. There was just enough time to jump out of the berth and into the musty corridor to avoid the struggling bodies behind me. I turned to see the soldier dragging the kicking couple by their collars, their diminutive statures no match for him. By that time, the train had slowed. I froze, watching the hulking figure drag the two to the train door, kicking the door lever with a scuffed torn combat boot.

Puthunk, puthunk. The soldier hopped off the train steps, still dragging the couple behind him. Their screams and pleas pierced the blackness until the shots rang out.

Silence. I hadn’t even realized I had pissed myself until I saw the urine creep down my pant leg.

As the train belched forward, I stumbled down the corridor, bursting into the empty berth, desperate for a window to catch a glimpse of…I didn’t even know what I wanted to see. The lonely lights cast shadows on the quickly disappearing figure of the soldier hunched over, his AK-47 slung across his massive back, collecting the greasy brown package.

I collapsed in the empty dark train berth, the threadbare cushions soon covered in vomit.

Seven more hours stood between Belgrade and me. It was going to be a long night.