06.11.2023

Andra Toropoc

Him 60, her 20, him a perverse Casanova, her a student that fell into his trap, although she had a young boyfriend. They liked each other, they attracted one another through texts, and on the first date the lyrical lioness was already chewing on them[1]. But him, prosaic and mercantile, he made her the star of his erotic community. Today, at college, she was texting her boyfriends, she had success and money, but also, she was in a state of sadness. She took out her gum and stuck it underneath the desk. The harsh wood pierced her finger and she she watched the blood spilling she asked herself whose is the baby.


[1]A reference to a famous Romanian poem by Nichita Stănescu, "Leoaică tânără iubirea" = Love, a young lioness

Vero Anttheia Teodoru
He became a medic because his parents nagged him and he had no choice. In school his colleagues called him used to call him little Splinter with no - you know what it rhymes with[1]. Now on his door it was written: Dr. Stravopulos Splinter - urologist. It sounded nice, but it was useless. He was never feeling well. In time his disappointment bit him more violently than an aggressive cancer. One day with a bag on his back he left to follow his calling. After long searches they declared him missing. In a tantric Buddhist temple at the foot of the Himalaya mountains someone was healing from unhappiness.


[1]A play on words: his name was Așchie which means splinter and Așchiuță is a diminutive which can be translated as little splinter, "Așchiuțăfără" would probably be continued with a rhyming word that denotes a sexual male organ and in this context it is supposed to be a derogatory term for young boys.


 Florina Hegedüs
He rested the axe on the trunk's life and measured it with his eyes, he couldn't have encompassed it with his arms that is how huge it was. The forest held its breath when he thirstily hit it and a splinter popped into his eye leaving half of green to his sight while the splinter swims towards his brain and asks him: does it hurt? Then it slips through his heart cold blooded towards his feet going down. The branches spit resin on it and stuck it back to the trunk. The man grew roots from his soles, from his eyes branches bled out, the axe was covered in leaves, with the law of the woods.

(Translated by Jessica-Polixenia-Cristiana Copilaș / 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 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.

0 comentarii

Publicitate

Sus