Soap Bubbles

Ina Moldoveanu
You woke up first, washed your side of the pavement, also washed yourself in the artesian well in the middle of the square, did your make up in that mirror shard and redid the black tear on your left cheek. Your nose was a red, small rubber ball which you carved, and your clown costume was put together with stuff from the garbage can. The children popped your huge soap bubbles. The little green-eyed girl was looking at you with fondness while leaving a coin in your box. Your little one likes neither clowns nor the soap bubbles. You always leave a coin and a tear.

Andra Toropoc
On wash day I used to quit my playtime and take my small basin and place it next to the big one that my grandma was working with. When she put detergent, I did the same, I was copying her moves, dunking my hands in the foamy warm water, scrubbing thoroughly. Transparent small spheres were emerging up past my cheeks, towards the sky. Through them, I could see the sun in my grandma's smile who was hanging the clothes to dry. There was a clean smell, the dolls were waiting for their dresses, summer was in full swing and life was simple, like a round and wet bubble that only lasts a second on your nose while you inhale the happiness.

Andrei Lămureanu
The garish clothes and heavy makeup could not hide the look on his face. There was something unusual in her eyes. Something terrible. Although, the children were still swarming around him in a joyful hullabaloo, and with both hands, he was sharing bottles of soap and big smiles. He was, of course, just a clown at a birthday party. The next morning, he was nowhere to be found, he disappeared along with all the children. The police and the desperate parents have searched for him in vain for months, even years. Even now, sometimes, there float thousands of colourful soap bubbles over the Childless Town.

(Translated by Cristina-Paula Grosu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)


Real Fiction is a collective project started in 2013 by Florin Piersic Jr. The concept of Real Fiction continued to exist as a Facebook group, after a volume of stories was published at Humanitas Publishing House. (In November 2023, the group has 12,090 members.) The authors write ultra-short stories, with the texts limited to 500 characters (in Romanian, so the length of the English translation might be a little different) - a flash-fiction exercise on a topic that changes every few days. The group's coordinators are Florin Piersic Jr., Gabriel Molnar, Răzvan Penescu, Luchian Abel, and Vlad Mușat. (Drawing by Adrian T. Roman)

Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.