Another heart-wrenching morning. I put the books in the canvas bag. I still have the rains of Rennes and a few dreams in there. They laughed saying it's a grocery bag. I don't care. I put the bag on my shoulder, put on my flats. The rule says to wear heels. They command respect and then click-clack you announce your presence in the hallway. I don't care. The bus moves at a snail's pace. I arrive. I leave my child's soul at the door, put on my mask and go in. It's me against them. They'll grin, they'll taunt me, they'll slam the chairs when I write on the blackboard. I pretend I don't care. High school, graveyard.
Ioana Clara Enescu
My house is like all the others in the small seaside town - white with blue shutters. At the gate I have a cascade of Bougainvillea. At the window facing the street, there are pots and lavender and basil. The gossamer curtain, embroidered with wild flowers, flutters like the wing of an invisible bird. I live within a postcard on the back of which someone, long ago, wrote: The monotony of these places saves you. Apathy is a turquoise sea, whose shore I do not want to leave. Ever.
Titela Durnea
Distinguished neighbours gossip about her around the corner. How can she not care? It hasn't even been a year. Her heart is cold. Aura gives them the same huge smile accompanied by upright, defiant, self-sufficient allure that defies their wretchedness. Every evening at 7 o'clock she heads for the cemetery with the precision of an atomic clock. She sits down between the two crosses, takes her storybook out of her bag and begins to read. Today, The Little Mermaid. The Fairy's furtive kiss gives her the strength to return once more.
(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.