On the way to school, sometimes my mother would take me on a shortcut, down a dusty alley. Mom, what's in that shabby house? Nothing. Every time, same question, same answer: Nothing. At night I dreamed that there was a palace where happy princes and princesses lived, a colourful place full of music and laughter. One day I jumped over the fence. Among the ruins, I only found rubble, rats and syringes. Over the years, I became a woman, a wife, and a mother. Yesterday I passed in front of the same fence with my little girl. Mom, what's in that house? Nothing.
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
When I look up at the sky, I realize that we are still prisoners. We can't leave this planet. At least not for now, maybe in the future. No matter how strong and smart we think we are. We're in a prison, which takes us through the Universe without asking us if we like it or if the journey makes us dizzy. But I'm not complaining, don't get me wrong. What do you think? The baby did not answer her, continued to play with her breast, while she caressed his forehead, then began to sing to him: I've often passed by the lonely poplar trees.
Gheorghiță Mircea
I lift lids and go down into the sewer daily. The job is disgusting, but being a bit antisocial and not having claustrophobia helps. Yesterday, in sewer C23, I heard voices in a language I knew from my middle school years, it was a mandatory language. Behind a grate, two bearded guys near PCs and keyboards were playing cards and drinking vodka. Что с тобой? What's with you here? Alioșa, the inspection. Yes, sir Allow me to report, we act, we germinate and disseminate conspiracies with the new world order, you know, the anti-vaccine, sexomarxists, anti-Christ plan.
(Translated by Bianca-Andreea Rîmboacă / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.