Huge commotion in the stairwell. Whispering, nudging, texting, the cordless phone. Two or three old ladies were covering their wide-open mouths shut. The prosecutor had already been at the scene for three hours. No one had noticed anything suspicious. Not even Vetuța, across the hall, who was full time worker at the peephole, had seen anyone visiting the victim. The only noise the neighbours heard from the flat was the TV: at 17 and 20. Daily. The coroner's report had a dry conclusion: intoxication.
Horațiu Dudău
Ahmed turns ten today. Everyone around him looks at him with pride. It's the day he'll give up his knife-cut, wooden toys. He's even been given a cake. But he still misses his father, who left a year ago. Mom brings him new clothes for the first time in his life. They're a bit heavy. Some priests tell him that today he will meet his father. At seven o'clock. He'll press the magic button. His father will appear in the crowd. And a whole world will see everything. Ahmed closes his eyes. He can't wait that long.
Miruna Marin
Dodo sits at the head of the table and sweeps the crumbs off the table with the palm of his hand. His black-rimmed glasses reflect the seven o'clock news. It lasts an hour, but I'm interested in 7:30. Grandpa, I say. Will you let me watch Kitt on Tele7[1] at half past? I'm stretching out my "t" and looking at him sweetly, lens to lens. He frowns and watches Esca further. I climb into the chair and reach over to give him a kiss on the cheek. He seems to be moving. Then quick, bouncy, two kisses on the lens. Now you can't look anyway, I laugh.
[1] Tele7 is a television station from Romania.
(Translated by Adrian-George Ilinca / 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.