I enter the den of vision, it shows me the twists, the turns, I have my eyes wide open, my lips puckered like when you don't know which road to take. Suddenly the Badger cuts you off. It's only natural, just don't spit in your chest or take three steps in the wrong direction. No more of this nonsense. Beings have evolved. At the bus stops, the Wolves and the Piglets sit quietly waiting for the three hundred and seven. Plastic foxes at the wheel of fancy cars, taken for honest money pass by splashing them unintentionally. They don't swear.
Monica Bologa
I've never met him. But I have read all his books, listened to all his interviews, and I know almost everything about him. He has been an inspiration to me for 20 years. Now I'm at his book launch, in a room full of people. I know exactly what I'm going to say to him, just two words; I've been rehearsing them all night long. I'm waiting. He finishes speaking, I sit in line for his autograph, my palms are cold, my breathing is getting heavier. I reached in front of him, the book was dropping from my hand, I picked it up, then, with the two words stuck in my throat, I run. And I keep running.
Sorin Rizeanu
And on that quiet evening, the wind goddess woke up and kissed his sole piously. The moon hurled her silver arrows into the cruel heart of Mother Nature, the red-clawed narcissist hiding in the dewy candlesticks. The Mother unfurls her wings and wraps the chubby and naked infant, asleep with clenched fists on the pedestal. The sinless babe, bred to grow greedy, wretched and grasping. Devoted, the impotent gods groaned on their knees: pure human infant, tear us to pieces that we may be reborn.
(Translated by Miruna-Gabriela Flipache / 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.