It's Tuesday. One without misfortunes. The magpie left the branches of the tree in front of the house yesterday. The burial took place in privacy: the priest, the cantor and four candles at the corners of the white coffin. Maria wanted it that way. In contrast with his life. Iulian opens the dresser. He takes the photo and places it on the dresser, where it should've been for years. Since their Anita passed away. The room lightens up. Something whole looks at him smiling. He lights up a cigarette. The rocking chair rocks (un)lived time.
Venera Hoffmann
Faster, faster, we're going to be late. God, such a pick me. There were too many hoarded, crumpled, chaotic, you never find something when you're in need, no cufflink, no tie. I don't like these pompons, daddy. Oh, sweetheart, they are nice. You'll take them off in a second, smile at the lady, that's the way, tilt the pen, stand straight. Look, other children are waiting too. Daddy's little girl, sweetheart. Come on, man, you won't be ready on time not even on your daughter's wedding, we'll make some fools out of ourselves.
Daniela Rusu
Her mind went off the rails. People could see her going from door to door. Some of them banished her and made their dogs attack her, others turned off the lights. She couldn't tell if Achim was real, if she had sneaked that night when that fire scorched her body and made her shiver, as if a demon had gotten into her skin. People told her that there was no Achim in the village. But she was looking for faces everywhere and wanted to rummage through other people's photographs. The wind was carrying his whispers to her, as if from a movie. Only the dawns were kissing her mercifully, watching over her thirst of love.
(Translated by Cristina-Andreea Dobre / 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.