They were happy. After years of failed attempts the miracle happened. They got what they wanted. They were learning to be parents, but their lessons were different. They were worried, they went to the doctors. Everywhere they heard the same diagnosis. The first -mother- pronounced it at four, after many therapy sessions. Then she smiled, clapping her hands. That was it. But that's how much it meant to them. With each new word she seemed to enter a realm she didn't want to cross. A child alien to this world. Their perfect child.
Lucian Domșa
I live in a world that measures its value in likes and virtual hearts. How can I waste time going out for coffee with my friends? Or go to the theatre or a concert? I don't even have time to pick up a book because of this damn Facebook. I've joined groups where I post poems and text women who give me hearts on Messenger. Most of them are married and tell me that they have a virtual boyfriend with whom they share their romantic and erotic fantasies, hidden in the bathroom after the brute of a man falls asleep.
Ruxandra Donose
I wish there were no clocks. The day would have no hours, just different depths and colours. At night, it would be just silence. Or dances and songs and rituals to find oneself. I'd like to know exactly how big the world is, which I can only find out by visiting its every nook and corner. I'd love to be able to wear all the colours of the rainbow, to be a fairy and a pirate, to do justice in the world. To be on an azure green island. I can already feel garlands of flowers around my neck. The clock rings. I leave my pen on the desk and go pick up the kids from school.
(Translated by Andreea-Daniela Vasilache / 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.