Enio was shouting something, something inaudible. Alex was only seeing the vocals from Enio's lips, plus the indication toward the door. The DJ disappeared from his desk. He was probably on the beach with the chicks with he had drunken all night. Enio went out. Alex went after him. The beach was stretching before their eyes. They should have heard the waves, but they were still deaf. They went on the sand. The salty fragrance of the sea was filling their nostrils, the air was becoming purplish in the morning. That would have been the case if they had left then, and Enio didn't die when the bomb exploded in the club.
(Translated by Georgiana Morozii / 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 June 2023, the group has 11,430 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, Luchian Abel, and Vlad Mușat. (Drawing by Adrian T. Roman)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale. 
