An unforgettable evening was when Iulia introduced those two to me. Țicu was tall and thin and stood out for the way he rolled his cigarettes with his big palms. Ted was short and dumpy and repeated everything Țicu said. So tell me, you are passionate about chemistry, Țicu asked. Chemistry? echoed Ted. At first I found them annoying, then funny, so that by the end of the evening I gladly showed off my knowledge of explosives. That evening, on the way home, Iulia asked me: do you wanna come up?
Iulia Biro
He is here, but not really. Other people move on with their lives, but he, like a foal that got lost from its cart at evenfall, does not feel that he is tied to anything, does not understand where he is now. One day he drinks until he's three sheets to the wind, two days he's sick, as his wife remembered to tell him, when she left him, slamming the door. Ex-wife. You're never in calmer waters, she shouted, then, straight into his ear, I'm not going to sink with you, not anymore. Nobody is sinking here, he mutters as he pumps up the new inflatable boat in the middle of the living room.
George Dometi
I dug a ditch. It was an order from the East. It's deep one. Three meters. Ten meters long. I did it all by myself. I filled it with the tears of pain of the mothers of those who died in the line of duty. What duty? To die? I break out in a cold sweat. As soon as I heard the key in the rusty lock, I leapt to my feet, hitting myself with the shaft of the shovel. The graze bleeds with more heat than these executioners have in their cold hearts. Thirty bags. Heavy. I carry them. I place them side by side. Then a fire hose covers them in concrete sludge. Oblivion.
(Translated by Andreea Teodorescu-Colciu / 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.