She left the tent barefoot on the grass, her breasts teasing the morning with the tips of their roundness. Ola, what are we cooking? She trips over the bucket of Sodium Hydroxide. What the hell, she laughed seeing the shapes, are you making soap here in the middle of the forest? Where is the coffee? All I have today is lye, baby. Soap is the brutality of the world, it washes away the dirt, but to make it you need lard, you need to sacrifice a life. I grabbed the machete, pale, hand shaking and baggy eyes. The best lard for soap is human, the perfect PH.
Titela Durnea
The story says that the brothers lived in harmony, together with their own, on a piece of land. The houses were separated by a layer of tulips. Wives were exchanging recipes and secrets. The children were sharing the seesaw and Axel's love. The storm started when the elders died. First as a respiro. Then the greed increased in intensity, wearing the robes of the tornado. Now everyone floats in their own bubble. They don't see each other anymore because of the brambles. The seesaw rocks the desert. It is said that Axel still jumps to pop balloons. To bring them back.
Ionuț Tuhoarcă
A cup of coffee thrown against the wall. A plasma TV cut to pieces. Police at the door. Bound. 2 weeks in the cold in the hospital. One gives me a grape that I don't know if it has been washed. One talks to his Gods. We are Judas, damn us. One curses the System as if It does give something. He doesn't give a damn, man. One shouts. I wet something. You wetted yourself again, you piece of shit. I'm talking rubbish, man. What am I doing here? Crouched in a squeaky bed with a can of water between my fingers.
(Translated by Ioana Andreea Radu / 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.