It's a golden autumn afternoon in Bordeaux, with the sweet smell of grapes wafting down from the hills. On the sunny banks of Garonne, shadows ripple across the huge white ship's canvas silently gliding towards the ocean. In the square, at the call of a violin, couples approach and bow with the ease of those who know the tango steps. Tired, I lean on you as if you were a warm torso. We don't know how to dance. I'm bouncing up and down whilst holding the little girl in my arms. She smiles hypnotized, laughing, twirling. The big bell is ringing in a perfect timing rhythm.
Ana Vlad
His parents were extremely proud of him, all he had to do was smile as they walked him around the neighbourhood. He grew up smiling, otherwise they would store him in the closet overnight. He was still smiling when something has taken over his life, has packed up his life, including the college he was studying at and the girl he loved, and stored them away. When he tries to reach them, he ends up in the old closet where a song from a memory of a little cowboy laughing behind a carnival mask drips from the corner of his eye: oh, Susannah, now don't you cry for me.
Carmen Tot
Empty groans heard upon the endless white expanse. He swallowed his past like the polenta Ana had laid on his table tonight, here, Petre, eat it while it's hot. Then the air in his lungs caught fire, hissing, his guts awakened him: in front of him, a pile of rubbish on which the Russian was pissing. The first prisoner screamed, he stomped him, and he rushed in, along with the others, and collapsed face down in the damp rot from which steam rose, his mouth gulped, gulped, he died, and woke up again gulping life. At home, the woman was weeping after the dead.
(Translated by Andreea Georgiana Bogdan / 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.