3, red. She thrust forward all the chips, he felt her pressing her body against his. Sweetheart, you promised me. It's the last time, I swear. He kissed her, the ball landed on black, the croupier smirked. Fuck it. He gnashed his teeth, wiped his forehead, her
let's-go riled him up. He turned to the man in the corner, came back with chips, threw them on the table. 2, black. Jesus. He went out in the cold night, made a few steps, fell down as shot. He had no idea how long he lay on the ground, when he entered the house he knew for sure that he missed one finger from the right hand. Don't you lie, she whispered as she departed.
(Translated by Oana-Roxana Dicilea / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)Real Fiction is a collective project started in 2013 by Florin Piersic Jr. The concept of Real Fiction continued to exist as a Facebook group, after a volume of stories was published at Humanitas Publishing House. (In July 2021, the group has 6.800 members.) The authors write ultra-short stories, with the texts limited to 500 characters (in Romanian, so the length of the English translation might be a little different) - a flash-fiction exercise on a topic that changes every few days. The group's coordinators are Florin Piersic Jr., Gabriel Molnar, Răzvan Penescu, and Luchian Abel. (Drawing by Adrian T. Roman)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficţiuni Reale. 
