I sniff in my bones. I didn't smell coffee and I didn't hear any grunting. I'd been with Papadopol for eight years and he made coffee every morning, talking to himself in a strange language, hissed and growling, very dear to me. I'd go out slowly, on the grass, barefoot. It was under the walnut tree. In a tuxedo. With a bow tie. You fucked me, you son of a bitch, I can hear you. You left me clear-headed and naked. It's fucking boring without you guys, come on, I hope it's fucking clinical death. No, you're going to spin in heaven, you assholes. What, I ask. My dwarves on the brain, woman.
(Translated by Andreea-Iulia Ciucă / 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. 
