6 p.m. Dinner's in the oven, the table's set, the house is the moon. I'm setting the cutlery and crockery for the guests. Two people. I bought a bunch of white roses. I love the soft smell of them in the middle of the living room. I draw the curtains, put on the music and run to the shower. I sing and froth, my thoughts fly away. I put on perfume, I put on my red dress. Everything's perfect. The hour approaches, I look at the clock impatiently. Ding, the pendulum announces 7 p.m. I sit down at the head of the table, put my plate on my plate. At 7:15 I move to the chair opposite.
Siranuș Hakobian
The last image I remember is the wheel of the motorcycle falling into a wheel track, spinning unperturbed. I'd like to tell you that I was looking down on myself, watching those men rebuild me piece by piece. In fact, when I woke up I knew exactly that I was in a hospital bed, in a cast, hanging from complicated pulleys meant to align my limbs. Three inches separated me from myself that might as well have been three light years: I didn't reach myself, though my nose itches terribly.
Ramona Ungureanu
Sometimes I was hot, sometimes I was cold, sometimes I felt like a glade of flowering poppies, the walls were cramping, someone kept biting the sun and I was exhausted, so I said to myself, stay here quietly, I'm going for help. I left and dropped my hands in my lap. Not here, not here, it was too barren for me, so I slowly reached out and painted the grass green, the sky blue with clouds and rainbows. I also made water, to whisper and full sun and moon corner to hang my denim jacket. Then I went after myself.
(Translated by Miruna-Gabriela Flipache / 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.