I'd dragged myself to the shore somehow, you could see the clear trail behind me, as though I'd wanted to be found after all. Then I sat down in the sand and the moon, bloody as myself, opened up my bottle and set it down to my right, in the sand. The wave reached up to it exactly. It retreated and came again, it's a circle, I said to myself, it saved me, saved me from myself, what poems I was writing in that woman's absence. Never marry your muse, I tell you. You'll die. Where have you been? With Jack,
old number seven, I'll mumble. A friend.
(Translated by Cristina Fliter / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / 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 March 2022, the group has 8,050 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. 
