Daniela Toader
50+, naturally blonde, still lovable, selling five pairs of Balmain shoes a year, ten Emporio Armani boxers a week, three Carpatex suits a day, a pair of tweezed ears, hair parted on the left, a wicked smile, five replumped fillings, ten manicured nails, a weekly wax, a wallet stuffed once a day. The price includes a lack of humour, hundreds of burps and thousands of missed evenings. Seven hundred horsepower, price negotiable. Private message for details. Seriousness requested. Ramona Ferrari.
Horațiu Dudău
I lost. In my hand, the last bottle of whiskey. The police come through the open door. Take what you want. Don't look for the Ferrari. I sold it yesterday. All thirty of them, in fact. Cash. I donated it all. Libraries for poor kids. Your children. I can feel the punch in my stomach. I'm not reacting. I understand hate. The blow makes me happy. It breaks me from the past. I take a drink and go outside. I walk down the steps of the mansion. I continue, with determined steps. In ten minutes I'm far away. I look at the whisky bottle. Virgin. I love you, Isabella Islay. You're original.
George Dometi
My mother smells like nystatin. When I kiss her, her sweetness is bitter and tasteless. Her smile too. She works at Antibiotics. She comes in every day with hard glucose and powdered milk. She's afraid to exist anymore. There's always something in her eyes when we don't see her. She laughs rusty like she's remembering from the past. The weariness of living eats away at her, though she doesn't show it. She struggles, but doesn't have the courage. My uncle gave me a very expensive toy, a car. I'm going to sell it to buy my mother courage. She has anxiety with autolytic ideation.
(Translated by Iulia- Mihaela Țugulea / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.