I'm on the bus, on a chair by the window. A dad and his little girl sit behind me. The girl is chewing crumbly biscuits. She dusts them off. An old woman smells like stale shelf biscuits. In front of me, an arrogant girl is talking on the phone. I don't know what else to do with him, Mom. Biscuits all day every day. I look out the window. Lively biscuits, sad biscuits. Biscuits that walk slowly with biscuits on a leach. A biscuit is crying on the shoulder of another biscuit. I wonder if its biscuit had died.
Eduard Szilagyi (Edd Myspys)
They took me to rehearsals because another actor was missing. I was up on the mast. I was lazily shaking two pseudo-cloths of painted nylon. The one below shouted loudeeer. He was rubbing a ball of salt on a large grater. He spat with anger and kept grating. I make the sea, you say loudeer, shake the great expectations. And I was rustling them with all my might. The sound engineers took the rustle and played it in the background with seagulls. We stood straight and silent as if we were advancing somewhere. I didn't get into the role, but then it dawned on me: that maybe it was possible.
Diana Cornea
Tempus ignitur. He had praised the night sky and didn't dare do more. His wings were burning, his body was burning, and his thoughts were burning. The magician returned to the tent of seasons and silently looked into the all-knowing eye that reflected abysses of helplessness. He squirmed ardently like a snake shedding its skin. He drank. The golden cup left his hand and rolleddown on the way to the ground beaten by the hooves of the Arabian horses. Persian carpets caught him in their softness, and Morgana caressed his brass temple in her lap.
(Translated by Bianca-Andreea Rîmboacă / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.