Andrei Tiganus
Even today, it continues to fall, over cars and sidewalks. And I'm sure it got inside, because I can barely breathe. The others have long gone. I grab my hoodie, my backpack, put a rag over my mouth and head downstairs. From the very first moment, the smoggy air fills my eyes with tears. I've seen the city at dawn before, shrouded in a clean, white mist that makes everything seem bigger. But it's a little different now, because I don't know if anyone else is still around. Suddenly, I feel awfully small.
Magdalena Daminescu
into oblivion, a name, a character, a book title, where I left my glasses, where I put my keys. Scary, isn't it? What's next? Forgetting myself wouldn't be so bad, but if I forget you, I can't find my way to heaven. I hope I don't forget my way home, I don't want to embarrass myself. In my home, things are still in their place, I can easily find them, but outside they've changed, they've picked up speed and they've gone downhill. My nephew suggested I paint the fear of oblivion. That's a good idea, but what color is fear of oblivion?
Sanda Vaideș
Farewell, I thought you were whispering after the last shovel of dirt. I look through the eye in the middle of my forehead at yesterday's shadow, also buried in the death of the night that has passed. Black clothes are still lying on the floor, the glass of blood-red wine is dimly gleaming on the windowsill, the lonely iris thread seems frozen, the curtain stops the light from inflicting an extra wound on me. I can physically feel the time seeping through my veins and the livid moments slipping away into nothingness to the rhythm of my heartbeat, dragging down the rest of my days without you.
(Translated by Raluca Ioana Crucerescu / 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.