I open the laptop to see him once again. Not because I miss him. Just as a confirmation. He gained some weight and started to whiten. His eyes of heaven caught clouds. Dark clouds, of malicious glance. She looks more and more like a doll. Blonde, with a face, hardened because of the botox. Like plastic forgotten in a solarium. It's mine, shouted from the picture, clutching his hands on him. I deactivate the account; I turn off the laptop and the modem. The women from this planet are lunatics. This is not what love feels like. Soon I will go home. I will take off this coat which shielded the light. This is called death.
(Translated by Roberta Ana-Maria Gulerez / 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. 
