A field of recently cut grass where all the people dear to me were happy. I ran barefoot to them. We hugged and began talking at the same time. We understood each other perfectly. Out of a sudden, a wild storm started. Raindrops didn't reach me, I couldn't feel the fresh-cut grass smell, I couldn't cry, laugh. I froze. The dear ones turned into strangers that spoke only dead languages. My guardian angel opened a beer and told me my place wasn't there.
(Translated by Andra Daiana Păuna / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficţiuni Reale.