Cause I wasted the rye on geese. But it's still grain, and grain's expensive, I feel rich. I'll make some porridge and call a sweet little wench to roll around in cornmeal. I'll tell her about my childhood as a traumatized city dweller in the Orthodox culture, conveying my drama even through my smile, as we philosophize on Interstellar. In the summer heat I am Constable's young boy, drinking from the creek, she soothes me with lyrics from Byron. We discover that this basin called life is illusory and we fall asleep like this, in the freshness of the evening air.
(Translated by Lenuța Bejenaru / 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 August 2022, the group has 9,000 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. 
