All the peoples of the world got killed in such a foolish way. There was not a sign of USSR, uncle Sam and his family were dead and gone. The Turks had perished like a tidal wave. All that remained of the Brazilians was the roasting smell of coffee. What remained of the Chinese, were pieces of porcelain. What remained from the Japanese were blossomed cherries. From the Swiss the new seconds were ticking. The Arabs were dead and gone with the petroleum. The Indians, cow dung. Me and my Romanians were the only one who were sitting in the Dacian tunnels, where the current blew us away, we were drinking holy water and spitting in our chests.
(Translated by Angelica Ioana Curcan / 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 October 2021, the group has 7.275 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 Ficțiuni Reale. 
