I sprinkle a lil' bit of salt on the wound in the pork rinds, perhaps wanting to forget the pigsty in which I live. The pestilential smell has the potential for confusion and misunderstanding. The conjunction in the third house of the subconscious positions me in the Turkish-Chinese square. Erlik patronizes me with gentleness. The sadism with which I unravel the wire from my snout by repeated belching pushes into the zesty mud of the stars makes me think I'm having Christmas dinner. But I have no certainty. The sky is cloudy, so I can't make an astrogram. Squeak.
(Translated by Andreea-Daniela Vasilache / 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 2022, the group has 8,750 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. 
