You know that I'm still mad at you, right? In the evening I drink some wine. But I don't forget. And the next day I look for you again, even though I promised not to. Relu insists we go out. He is a lot like you. Maybe something will come out of that. How are you doing? I see you have company on your right. I hope it's not too much of a mess. Damn you. Couldn't wait for another year? You wanted so badly to see Sintra and Petra. They were the next ones to check off. Did you suddenly grow wings? Next week I will paint the grate. White. So that it fits in with the cross. I am leaving. Blow out the candle.
George Dometi
A glass bottle buried in the earth beyond. Yesterday as soon as the sun was out, I went and planted her rescue. For months since we've been seeing each other without anyone knowing I've seen her wanting to end it all. Our friendship is so strong. I linger in front of the huge fence, bitterness envelops me, I wipe a stray tear with my dirty coat and run without looking back, where she digs up my gift with blunt nails. She finds it, opens it, drinks, and dies with freedom on her lips.
Arthur Ianoși
I sit on the asphalt on the grinddrawn by those who had noticed the accident. The victim had fallen into an unnatural position considering that he had thrown himself from the window, from the ground floor, in a desperate attempt to escape the wrath of the one who had caught him in bed with his wife. The bloodstain was still there. A swarm of ants was piling up on what I assumed was a molar. I inhaled with both nostrils. It smelled like lemon. An old woman was watching me from over the fence. I ignore her, still sniffing the asphalt. Sir, it seems like you've come back to life.
(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.