We sit on the bench with the basket between us: mother and child. In the basket is the little five-day-old, taken out for the first time to the air and sun. Now tell me honestly, says the child, who do you love more: me or him. I fall into thought, clinging to parental stereotypes: daddy and I love you both the same, you are our children. Then, suddenly, I hear myself say without thinking: and never forget that I loved you seven years more than him. A smile lights up his eyes and I see peace settle in.
Iulia Anastasia Roșca
Look at him sounding like he doesn't have a key, you spineless. I didn't clean, I didn't make soup, I didn't even go to your blind mother to do her shopping. I bet you tripped over your suitcase. I put some dirty laundry in there, I didn't feel like washing. After the rest of the belongings come another time, now I want you to disappear and take your son who fell asleep again with his bongo on his chest. Nelu, take a good look at my put on eyelashes, I'm beautiful, strong and walking on my heels towards my dream of an independent woman, right? How am I waiting with my hand out? The Nobel.
Monica Bologa
I quietly sip my coffee. A bearded man stares at me from the bar, then comes over to my table and asks permission to sit next to me. I tell him I don't feel like chatting. I want to make love to you, he tells me directly. Only if you give me something special; I don't just have sex with anyone. I will give you the ultimate prize in literature; I got it last year. Ok. Then I bring you the most God of Gods. Wait here, I'll be back. The man disappeared for an hour and came back with the medal. Now where the hell am I going to get God from?
(Translated by Iulia-Mihaela Țugulea / 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.