a heart from heaven. The first one I found in the yard, pulsing blue in the grass. With a swift hand I rescued it from Rex's mouth. Before I knew what was wrong with it, I put it on the shelf next to the fabergé eggs. The second I picked from the seedlings. Oh my, I said to myself as I placed it next to the other one. Then the downpour started. Happy, sad, full of life, or numb with longing, I no longer could pick them. Then I took needle and thread, propelled the ladder up the great cloud and plunged into the sky to find the crack.
Vlad Mușat
It was Holy Week. Monday. I had bought a whole lamb. Unfortunately, it had to be butchered. That job usually fell to Grandma, but that year she wasn't feeling well, so I had to take my manly role seriously. I'd pound on the cleaver with a hammer until I got through the bone. All the while, I looked into the lamb's eyes like two crystal balls. I saw my parents again, right on the day of my divorce. The judge borrowed my mother's voice. Rareș, stop it or you'll chop it up and it won't even be good for soup.
Nicolae Popescu
Mitruț sticks his nose to the glass. The snow has piled gently up in the yard. The wood in the shed is running low. He'll break a few logs today. Then he'll feed Joiana and Iordăchiță, the calf. Grandfather Văsălie is old and his saddles are aching, and sister Irina is only four. After work, Mitruț will set off for school, six kilometres over the hill. He pulls up beside the almost-cold furnace. He clutches the book to his chest, fingers drummed. His eyes shine resolutely: I'm going to school, I'm going to grow up and bring you home, Mum.
(Translated by Adrian-George Ilinca / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.