Minus 20 degrees on that Christmas night. One horse, a coachman, two girls and a wagon took off at four in the morning from Văratec village towards Târgu Neamț town. The girls were lying on a bed of straw, covered in blankets. They were dressed up with everything they had packed in their suitcases. They had been on holiday. They had a train to Bucharest to catch. They could see the man's back, the sky, and the clouds of cold air when they breathed. Halfway through the journey, one of them thought she would freeze and die. Then she saw, above her, the Big Dipper.
Ana-Maria Butuza
After painting the ceiling like the sky, with blue, he tiredly looked inside of the bucket and said to himself that it was a pity to waste such good paint. He coloured the waters like the sky. With white, from the fluffiness of clouds, he made the waves, afterwards, for a heavenly moment, he gazed at his masterpiece and thought it wasn't enough. He remembered that he still had night colours and some starlight dust. He made wide, golden beaches, and at the bottom of the seas, he painted darkness. Only after painting people, was he displeased.
Ionuț Tuhoarcă
I lost yet another friend because of my writing. Or at least I thought he was a friend. I didn't think you were like this, Ionuț. How so? I've been like this for 43 years. He won't eat a piece of bread with you, you talk to him, say hello, how are you, and he starts judging you. Why are you writing like this, and not like that? Just tell me what to write so it'll be okay. Let me take out my notebook. And what else have you been up to? Have you painted, sold anything? No, I really wasn't in the mood. If this is what Heaven's like too. No, thanks.
(Translated by Diana Georgiana Rădăcineanu / 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.