The Scale

Elena Fermuș
Brain death was to become just death today. The patient is prepared for heart retrieval. The doctor clenches his teeth. How much does this pain weigh? He begins the final journey towards her heart. He extends his hand. Scalpel. The woman is still warm. And just as beautiful. Scissors. His eyes and forehead moisten. He hears her in his mind. I love you, doctor. I give you my heart forever. Forceps. She was crazy. She ran barefoot in the snow. She danced on the waves. You couldn't help but love her. It's ready, bring the container. Her heart must beat again.

Carmen-Ecaterina Ciobâcă
The air is like lead, silhouettes of smoke writhing around me. I step out onto the terrace. The music no longer pounds in my brain and chest. I feel his breath on the back of my neck. His righthand shackles me, his left draws circles. First on one breast, then the other. I melt. What do I tell to The Little One? he hisses in my ear. Tell him to move the goods to another address. And change that damn SIM card, I say through gritted teeth. He kisses me. Do you know when I desire you the most? When you're there, dressed in black. I imagine you. Without plates or a sword. But blindfolded.
 
 Răzvan Drăgoi
He had the soul of a He-Mița the Cyclist. He was a copier, but didn't like kids outside of the copy-paste couple. He suffered from a vague misanthropy, interspersed with humanist yelps and shouts. He had something of Eminescu in him, like a lone banknote with the poet's face, unmatched, because he only had one. The state of curvature overwhelmed him, like a swarm of flies on a mosquito, yet his snobbery gave him neither peace nor hope. Frustrated, he realized that he was intrinsically talkative and hyaluronic when he was angry. That he was a Scorpio, not a Libra.

(Translated by Alin-Marian Mărgescu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)