I sat on the throne, more or less pondering the existence of reality outside my field of vision in the moments of blind silence between blinks. Apathy is sister to blissful ignorance and I chose to believe I am the centre of the world and that everything is a show meant to amuse me, that the world is populated by jesters who serve me. To the only one who dared to contradict me by suggesting that what I believe makes no sense, I said that nothing makes sense. Then he joined me in sitting down and began to ponder.
Sanda Vaideș
The old psychiatrist pridefully admired his library where, on a long shelf, sat his famous works on attachment and vulnerability. He had devoted his life to the study of the need of human beings to form and develop intense emotional bonds with other human beings, the dependence of the young child on his parents, the spell that gives rise to the feeling of love, of protection, of kindness. The butler brought him the phone. Your son is calling, sir. I don't care, he replied icily, looking at his hypocritical work.
Silvia Ștefan
He wanted to tell her but he was ashamed. Life without this woman would be ugly. He knew she loved him because the sun no longer rose from behind the hill in the morning, but from her eyes. The food she put in her bowl had a hint of love and tasted like his mother's cooking. His poor mother, may she rest in peace. And Ilinca, well, Ilinca was different. An ever cheerful child with budding breasts and eager to love. She noticed him staring into the distance and rubbing the spoon against the edge. I know how you feel, man. Do as your heart desires but come home tonight.
(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.