Viorel Spinu
You privileged man, be damned! The gypsies were breaking the violins and he was staring blankly into the empty glass. He was dizzy and his head hurt. He couldn't think of anything other than that gypsy's curse. It was March and the sun was blazing. It was draining him out. He could feel the gypsy dust on his skin and in his throat. Bloody gypsy. He had the servants look for her. To hand her a plate with food and a couple of bucks. Bloody gypsy. She was nowhere to be found. Let this wedding be over and leave for Radina. With only two pennies Radina could make even the devil tremble.
Ana-Maria Butuza
He slammed the door against the wall and with his muddy boots he walked into the middle of the shack. I brought you some rocks, because you've been up to your necks in paperwork. Damn bureaucrats, we end up doing more paperwork than production. Dorine, make some of that divine coffee. Sure boss, will do. But what's that? With extra-foam, Dorine, with extra-foam. Shall this bloody day be over with for I'm up to my neck in dust.
Titela Durnea
He approached her in the college hallway. Dark eyes, Armani scent, slim shirt, seductive smirk. All the right components of charm. They went out three times. Then came the invitation to the beach. It was about to be a special weekend. Friday he took her home in a Porsche convertible. Irina was glowing. Her handkerchief fluttered, spreading fragrances of gardenia and jasmine. She didn't notice the strange sparkle in Paul's eyes. Nor the glove compartment, in which two sachets were gleaming white. Except the wall, too late. On which a dimpled dream was embedded.
(Translated by Andreea Georgiana Bogdan / 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.