Father Agheasmie happily went inside his house, holding a large, beautifully wrapped box. He smiled. His youngest son eagerly approached. What does dad have here? asked the priest with honeyed words. The child hastily snatched the gift and opened it. From the bottom of the box, a stuffed bunny smiled his way. Is it a boy, daddy? The priest's wife approached the two. You should've got him a real one, Father dearest. The eldest son intervened, No, no. It's better off this way, otherwise, he'd bet on it during poker.
Tina Dublea
T. had a teddy bear when she was little, passed down from her brothers. Sewn and oversewn as if it went through a failed appendectomy, of an uncertain color, anti-filth. She carried it everywhere. Joined at the hip, like symbiotes, baby. However, she lost it one day. She cried her eyes out. This morning, on a dirty countryside train, she found Petrică. Hunched but clean, wearing a polka-dot skirt, he was going to work, resewn by life, you could tell others had used him. Where have you been, Petrică? Here, I never left.
Florentina Ghițescu
I went to Sulina. I've been here twice in my life, the first time while in high school with a classmate. We stayed at an old lady's place and foraged for mushrooms. The second time happened when I was an adult and got my picture taken by a photographer on the boardwalk. A film had been shot and the studio was full of photos: young newlyweds, and family photos, in black and white. I was left with the nostalgia of the place. Today I got into the car and left. The sky is covered in teddy bears and other animals. I hope the wind scatters the clouds away like it did my family, so my stay isn't ruined.
(Translated by Adriana-Maria Botea / 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.