08.11.2023
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
It feels like my skin is itching. I keep tossing and turning. I cannot sleep. I get out of bed and walk myself to the window. I open it wide, desperate for a breath of air. The night sky is adorned with stars. Way more than there were last night when you were here. When you've told me you didn't know what to do. That you're afraid not to hurt anyone. Then you stepped on a splinter and pricked your foot. You cursed the flooring. I cleared your wound. And you kissed my elbow. We argued pointlessly. And you left. The door slammed shut behind you. My ears hurt. And my heart ached. Hello? You can't sleep either. Oh.

Monica Bologa
I was once a majestic tree in a linden grove. One Monday, a chainsaw knocked me down. I woke up, stripped of my bark and transformed into a dry paraffin-treated plank, ground into slabs with grooves filled with lead. Now I'm just an ordinary pencil in the hand of a girl who slowly frays me when writing her little romance story. I believe it's about her own love, because on the table, amidst sheets of papers, a lamp and a sharpener, she also has a bowl where she casts the thorns she plucks, one by one, from under her skin.

Silvia Ștefan
You can't do it Silvi. Every time I heard these words, I felt the urge to gouge out my organs, blow away the dust and rearrange them on the appropriate shelf in the pantry. Here lies the jar of dreams. You won't be able to, you're a girl, this is a man's world. Here lies the jar of health. You've got cancer, your heart won't withstand the anesthesia, your child will be born without legs. You can't do it Silvi. There's a high chance your child won't live past his first day on Earth, you can't be a mother. But you can do it, Matei, I said, caressing his little head. You're strong, just like mommy.

(Translated by Marian-Cătălin Niculăescu / 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.

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