New folder

George Dometi
I sit on the concrete curb and watch with tears in my eyes as hundreds of youngsters are having fun at the New Year's party on the crowded and well-lit streets. I think about how wrong I was to open his laptop and snoop through his files and find his diary. I can't live knowing he doesn't like women. That's why I chose this path. I love him too much. As the melancholic type, I wouldn't be able to resist not making this thoughtless gesture. So in 5, 4, 3 I push the chair he's tied to, as people cheer happy new year downstairs.
 
 Monica Ciurea
I look at my father. A little man hunched over and slim. He's peeling potatoes with slow movements. After turning 80, he doesn't want anything anymore. Next to him, his grandson. He's cleaning his smartphone of spam and notifications with quick movements. Over 80. Pops, have you never deleted these spam messages from your phone? There's a folder here. What's an older? Two yellowed, opaque eyes stare at the grandson. Elder, pops, of greater age. I'm talking about folder. The file. It needs to be upgraded. I continue to look at my father. He's new older. The grandson is new folder.

Gheorghiță Mircea
This year I have a new friend in my list. It's hard to make it into my circle of friends and my intuition, actually it's something else, I won't say what now, told me I was facing a challenge. I accepted the request. But I kept a close eye on the behaviour of the new female friend. Slowly, I notice the times and the number of posts, their subject matter, and I realize I'm in the presence of an A.I. powered robot. She had learned and was trying to make me like her. She was finding her place in my world. That's what you think, creature. I laugh and track her posts, her perverted attempts.

(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)