Apples, Pears in Baskets

Cristina Daniela Dumitru-Pascal
He sat down on the edge of the ditch, between two baskets full of fruit. Last autumn, last harvest. She sold. Everything. And also a part of her soul. That part she put at the root of every tree in the orchard. How many winters did she almost sleep next to them, afraid they would freeze? How many springs has she stood still beneath the snow of petals? How many autumns has she fallen on her knees and thanked them for the wealth of poplars? She sold. Everything. She's moving in with the kids. She picked up an apple and sank her teeth deep into it. Just like she bit the life out of it. Until now.

Titela Durnea
Tilică was a big troublemaker since his mother left him in the field. He howled at the top of his lungs, and three villages gathered to spit him out. He grew up somehow, more with a loaf of bread from the baker, more with grapes from the ILF. He didn't like the work, but he sang in such a way that he would grease your soul. Night after night, summer after summer. In winter he would get caught in Tincuța's barn. A harsh and generous woman. She would always put something for him to eat on the towel. Now it's the first winter without luck, but with a big frost. Among autumn's fruits, the lute proudly weaves. Tilică is silent.

Nicolae Popescu
The emperor's son, Wilhelm Tell, trains in archery. Wilhelm aims the apple at the servant's head. The arrow whizzes through the air and pierces the poor man's neck. Another servant is brought in, and a pear is placed on his head. The emperor gives advice: Son, take the line of sight up to the pear's tail. Wilhelm shoots, the arrow stops in the unfortunate man's forehead. The emperor is angry: Enough, shoot into something else, into the fruit basket, without people around. In this way, I'll run out of servants, and tonight I'll have to undress myself for bed.

(Translated by Florina Șamata / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / 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 December 2023, the group has 12,210 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.