He is a bad kid. The only thing he teaches you is nonsense. I don't care, mum. He spoils your education. Fine, I won't invite him to my birthday party. You can't learn enough. I don't care, mum. I want to be a painter. You won't do anything with your life. Fine, mum. If you wear that earring, you won't see a penny from me anymore. Mum, the whole got filled up. Maybe it's time for you to get married. Yes, but. Would you like to be single all your life? This is Monica. I'm glad. She's nice, but... From now on, I'm on my own. I ran away from the altar, but mum, it was my decision.
Fabiola Stoi
Why are you here?, she asked him showing no emotion, while she kept cleaning the garden. He was standing by the fence looking at her the way he had never done it before. Life without him. Long years, grown-up kids now. I'm home, he said, looking down to the weeds and dead woods she had piled up. Just like her heart when he had left without saying a word: dry, sick and scattered to the four winds, howling in the house full of tears and child laughter and on the empty bed. Neither he had cared back then, nor her now. But he said: Ana, prepare the guest room for your dad.
Ruxandra Coman
Good evening, parents. So, how is it? It never fucking ends, right? I know, sweeties. Last week we talked about patience, but today we are going to learn about not giving a fuck. I'll hit your head against the walls, everybody knows the word, right? Close your eyes. Visualize. The little one is crying and you have already applied everything we have taught in class so far, but nothing works. Bang, the bathroom wall, bang, the kitchen wall. Look at your hands. Now embrace your Shadow and forgive yourselves. You are safe.
(Translated by Cristina-Andreea Dobre / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.