I watch a documentary about Auschwitz with fascination. I look away from the screen just long enough to pour myself a gin and tonic and cut a slice of lime to chew on with the liquid in the glass. I'm foolish enough to analyse my own emotions raised by the contrast of situations. The corpse piles don't affect my taste. Maybe I'd eat, but I don't usually eat in the evening. If I got hard, I'd generally try to masturbate. Experimentally. I stick to drinking. I'm struck by a terrible feeling: I'm out of smokes.
Ioana Epure
For two weeks now I've been telling you none of the knives cut anymore. I won't keep telling you about the bathroom doorknob, I'm sick of it. That lightbulb in the hallway has been forsaken for a year now. You don't care. Yeah, I care what car Adi bought and what school his son goes to. Just like you care what vacation Adi took his wife on but you don't see that, huh? What bears on an exotic island are you dreaming of, no one ate them because I saw them yesterday. So what if you're not home? You know I like to talk to myself, that's all.
Magdalena Daminescu
I turn on the TV when I eat so I don't eat alone. War. I pretend I don't care and swallow with a lump in my throat. I change the channel and I'm met with the teacher's strike. I don't care, I'm retired, I can get by without a strike, who's ever seen a pensioner on strike. I go out in the yard to pull weeds by the fence. Three of the neighbour's dogs bark. There goes my peace and quiet but I don't care, I understand the love of animals. The gas bill arrives but I care not, I'll stop eating bread, after all I'm too fat. Who cares, I don't care about myself.
(Translated by Bogdan Nicola / 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.