I wouldn't miss a summer funeral; the cemetery is the perfect place where the zest for life gets refreshed and where the poor wreaths become a laughingstock compared to the lush vegetation surrounding the tombs. My senses go wild in an anarchy that gets out of control: my eyes are full of all the green and the jasmine drives me crazy. On the cobbled paths, clouds of pheromones float around, released by the power of death, the great aphrodisiac, from lucky, living bodies. In a totally inappropriate way, I start missing a slut who had a cheap, jasmine smell.
Paul Dârvariu
In defence of the signee, I submit the following evidence: 1) The selfie submitted by the plaintiff, in which we appear together on a bench in the park. Please note that the bench is located under a jasmine bush, a shrub in bloom, highly fragrant; 2) The medical certificate which shows that the signee suffers from osmophilia, a disease that manifests by an anarchy of reason in the presence of a strong smell. Considering everything that was shown, I ask you to dismiss the rape charges made by the plaintiff.
Gabriel Rusu
For twenty years, on the first day of summer, the biker gang has been stopping by the cemetery in town. Their leader takes out a flower from his chest pocket and places it on the grave of a policeman. While the others laugh and smoke, he says a prayer, then repeats the promise he made. For the courage you showed I will always respect you. Your little girl just graduated from university. Your wife still sobs sometimes because she misses you. I look after them as if they were the family I've always wanted. Why were you on the streets on the day of the massacre?
(Translated by Ruxandra Adriana Dodoiu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.