The Sunday Afternoon Dairy

Ruxandra Comșa
The Create the World in 7 Days project was a failure. My father, the Lord of All and Everything, had high hopes in it . I let him down. Hey boy, you didn't like school, you didn't like to work, what am I going to do with you? I gave you an extra day, just to do it well, but you put down the pencil and gave the sheet blank. Is that how you arise? Then he crumpled up the world and threw it away. What he didn't know was that I had pondered the final surprise for a long time. I can't wait to see his face when I complete that cryogenic coast.
 
 Marian Bircea
It's Sunday, summer and the same pattern as usual. The meal out, lead eyelids drooping chins into the chests of the tired parents who are going to sleep on blankets in the vineyard, dishes washed and the table set by children, the lamp radio turned off after the Happy Wave[1], the chickens and geese sleeping in unnatural positions, provoking muted laughter, the wonder that a mother cooked soup, roast and stew from a bird. The warm pancakes with jam. The long yawn, sneaking up on our sleeping parents and the cat following us, the restful deadness and the feeling that time stands still.

 Arthur Ianoși
I'm resting together with Him. Me, because I'm depressed, and Him, because he created the World, even if once he told me I'm his world. It's not that I'm naïve, but when he told me he is God, I believed him just because he had a beard. He left on a Munday and came back after 7 days. Lipstick traces on his shirt, smelling of cheap ladies perfume and fagged out. Where have you been Costeluș? Do you really believe this World is building by its own? And these lips, what are they? I ran into your neighbour in the elevator, she was coming from a wedding, she was drunk and mistook me for the deceased.

(Translated by Florina Georgiana Țîncu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)