I would never know why as soon as her body relaxed, instead of staying next to me in bed, she would rush into the shower, maybe because she didn't have time to do it before, who knows, the fact is that left alone in her room, I could to rummage through the things carelessly thrown everywhere and in this way I discovered her almost indecipherable writing on a notebook, a kind of diary in which she told stories, this is what I would find out by reading it night after night, the life of a girl who stole from the mall, sometimes out of necessity, often for pleasure.
Irina Kappelhof-Costea
Forty-two sacks carried in the street. Books in boxes. The paintings in bubble wrap. The trinkets at the consignment. The good carpets in the garage, the others in the container. The divan, cracked with an ax to get out the door. The sideboard dismantled. The mirrors still without a solution. Donated piano. Dust.In his pocket, a folded sheet of dictando: You have beans in the red saucepan in the fridge. If not, heat some soup. Florin comes at6 o'clock, do your homework until then. Take the sugar to aunty if you have time. Kiss, Grandma.
Silvia Ștefan
They crept under the blanket with the flashlight on. They couldn't find a safer place, the stuffed animal warehouse was suitable. Anyway, they just borrowed the manuscript from the museum. His father was a guard there, stealing the key was a piece of cake. How brave you are, he told her admiringly. His hands were shaking, with flashlight and everything. What am I not doing for you, Silvi? You promised me something. The girl took out her phone and started taking pictures of the maps. See? She is buried here. Footsteps are heard, Florin covers her mouth with the first kiss.
(Translated by Ioana Andreea Radu / 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.