Since the last night's storm, the cell tower signal was off. It was Dallas time zone. Through the big room's open window, a grandmother could be heard: it has fleas again, move a little, now it's better, let it go, ohhh, it's gone again, damn it. Stay there, son, it won't take long. It's still, don't move, it's on the shirt. The boy, like a guardian on the roof, with his hand on the antenna, began to look around the neighbouring houses. He was taking his fair share of good movies, like the ones he and Lică used to laugh about in the evenings at the florifetefilmesaubăieți game.
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
When he entered, he had dark circles. The pastor, as everyone called him, scolded him. You, what have you done? I've told you to take some rest for this business. Of course he hadn't rested. He only managed to get an hour of sleep. He had imagined so many things, how he would be caught, even killed. After all, he only had to install the device in that guy's hotel room, nothing more. He greeted the others coldly, trying to appear stronger than he actually was. He knew that if they felt his fear, he could become a liability.
Miruna Marin
Your vodka is my Netflix. Sometimes, I disguise it in documentaries, as you hid your liqueur in milk cartons. I spend my day on a chair, working, and my evenings, on the couch. Next episode. Sweet child, the best child. You were lying in bed, looking through a book. Is it better for me that I lead this kind of alternative life, or is it better for you, that you've given it away altogether, embracing your depression, and taking it to bed like a mistress? When the screen turns black so do my thoughts and I repeatedly wonder: are you my shadow, or am I yours, father?
(Translated by Andreea Cuprian / 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.