I've been coming here every end of the spring for 10 years. When I saw that poppy in bloom, peace came over me. I got down on my knees and thanked God for this gift. I took the water from the trunk and started to water it. Then a feeling of panic came over me. Many people take pictures of themselves in the rapeseed field and there is a risk of destroying the flower. I'll guard it. The poppy has blossomed on the spot where I buried Andrei. It's proof of forgiveness. It was an accident, but no one would have believed me.
Diana Cornea
Some see God everywhere. Others nowhere. Miruna was returning from church on her bicycle. Shorts, wet T-shirt. She had scored the last goal. The boys were pissed. They had chased her through the cemetery. She'd jumped over the wall, saddled up her bike and ridden home. But on the way, she came across Grigore's path. He was with the sheep. He hadn't lifted his head out of the dust. She stood still and in her ears the harsh voices made her bite her lips. As if on cue, the sheep made way for her and crowded behind her. Today, she is Grigore's too.
Nelida Holban
Her grandmother figured it out first. Think twice before you speak. You have a filthy mouth. Don't curse. She didn't care. Hurt, wronged, she was unleashing poison darts. Sometimes the thought of harm rebuked her, but she couldn't help herself. Over the years she learned to swallow her bitterness, to be silent, to understand, to forgive, to help. She wanted neither thanks nor divine vengeance. As of cursing, she had cursed once. Long ago. With burning passion. 'Wish you to never have the luck to love again, my longing for you will burn you all your life.' No one told her that curses return.
(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.