Catch me, she says and then darts forward, hop-hop with her bare feet across the scorching pavement at Unirii. Her pink dress with white dots billowing in the summer air. I catch up to her, grab her hand and ask her to not leave like that again. We share a Polar ice cream. It's like aa block of butter; laughter rings out like the tinkling of little bells. In Cișmigiu, she wants to go to the ladybugs. She spins and spins, dizzying herself; I close my eyes for a moment. When I open them, she's gone. Cati? A little hand pulls at my dress. Mommy, let's go to the swings. I leave to relive my childhood 2.
Andra Toropoc
But you are so visible already, we tell you pitying all your attempts. Your colorful bangs hide your gaze, but we all managed to know your point of view: full exposure in photos and online rhymes. Stop trying to stir yourself with the same stories, we're bored. That's why we've become problem children, as you tell your admirers. But you're our mother, and we love you, that's why we film you sitting on the toilet locked in the bathroom. The world still hasn't discovered that your lips can utter so many curses.
Vlad Nastea
Hello? You know something, angel? I am still searching for myself. You are right, yes, it was my fault for stepping on the landmine. My insides were scattered all across my past loves, one got the lips, one got my pelvis and my breath was lost who knows where, my denim jacket was left between a bookstore and Donath Street in Cluj. But what I'd really like to find out is if my blue bow from the heart transplant is still there. I can't find that one, and that's what I miss the most. How? Should I come back on business days during office hours? Well, my watch disappeared then too.
(Translated by Ioana Grințescu / 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.