Sci-Fi

Titela Durnea
Ionică and Anuța go to bed with the chickens because it's winter now. They lie back to back to keep warm. Ionică snores loudly. Anuța, with the wool blanket between her legs because that's the only way she can sleep, starts tossing around, like a fish out of water. Ionică opens one eye, then listens with one ear. What the hell's with you, woman? Anuța was singing in her sleep: touch me, touch me. Wake up, to hell with you and Cotârlă's Saveta. All winter long the two of you've been listening to that Samantha Fox. Touched in the head, that's what you are.
 
 Alex Caragian
The skies were running out of space. The heavens were so full they could reach the black clouds descending on the overly high roofs of the digital cathedral that was about to be opened. The archive-bishop, joined by the digital deacon aspiring to the great e-clergy, the clergy of the new online religion, walked synchronously on the red carpet. The Proto-Pop himself had prepared this choreography. The heavens couldn't hold any longer and tore open. Dammit to hell, this is paranormal, said the priest, hiding behind his despotic cane. The heavens spat forth fire with disgust.

Ionuț Morariu
To Lazarus, the resurrection was a kind of punishment. He didn't even say thank you when he came back from the dead. He had unwittingly become the first thanatonaut. But no one comes back the same from death's clutches. And Lazarus was changed by his journey. He had gone mute on the inside. He had been a butterfly and now he dreamt he was a larva again. Besieged by the crowds of onlookers, he sewed his lips shut. In vain. People wanted to snatch the secret of resurrection from him at all costs. Then, just before the second Ascension, Lazarus used a stick to scribble in the dust on the road. Some things are better left unsaid.

(Translated by Bogdan Nicola / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)