She wanted life in grand style, but missed out on its maximum grandeur. She fancied herself a painter and ended up drawing mandalas on mugs. She married the prettiest, richest fellow, they travelled the world, but she divorced, in love with an elderly, impoverished gigolo who only walked her around the bedroom and put her off with fine promises. She christened her little girl with the most beautiful name known to man, but she calls her like cats, Sof. Now she's writing the novel of a lifetime, aiming for the Nobel Prize, but all she gets are accolades on a micro-story site.
Miruna Prescher-Spiridon
I got out of bed today. With all that was left of me, I made it to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth. Two mini-victories myself, zero depression. I sat down on the tub. I turned on the shower. Then I made myself a pretzel. I cried to see which leaked more, the shower head or me. Two mini-victories me, depression one. I went back to bed. It's been ten thousand today. Mini victory after mini victory I went out into the streets, among people and life. Today logarithmically, tomorrow exponentially, I am the factorial sum of my own mini victories.
Daniel Onofrei
That year, the Ueno - Iga Province Happiness Festival had gathered the most prominent hajjins. Hisoka of Tokushima, the bard with the flowing hair, decorated by Taira Masakado himself, Yoshi of Nagano, winner of the Ogiku Chrysanthemum, and young Satoru, representing Osaka. It is said that for three days and nights each of them recited dozens of haiku poems without anyone winning. Then Satoru slit his wrists, writing in blood the text that would bring him victory: see, swallows seduce.
(Translated by Iulia-Mihaela Țugulea / 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.