How can I take you to the land of monsters, my lord, like the wind or like thought, asked the horse, regurgitating coal right on Prince Charming's new blue boots, from under which the edge of his daisy sock protruded, until he howled: momma, momma, this animal wants to set me on fire and I haven't done anything to him. Come on, baby, stop crying, for tomorrow you'll be emperor and life is pink. Take that, momma beats the animal, let the baby pass. It's passed, hasn't it? Forget it, that stupid Ileana doesn't appreciate you anyway. Let her stay with the monster.
Sanda Vaideș
We both wrote a bucket list for two retirees. A modest one, the great joy was being together. We'd start with Barcelona, because Sagrada fascinated you. Then a summer camp in Albufeira, where night after night we'd eat fish and drink Moscadel de Setubal on fado amor and saudade. We'd go down to Gibraltar to pick the shells that would bring us close to the Mediterranean. The terrible disease that struck you down takes me on a different route today: I'm coming to the cemetery to tell you how I burned our bucket-list.
Ina Moldoveanu
She wears a nun's habit, two braided tails and a wide smile that suddenly turns to sadness when she bows her face to the ground. She's an eccentric rich woman, some say. She drinks her coffee in absolute silence and never refuses the offered piece of cake, which she carefully crumbles. Abandoned as a baby in front of the metal gate, which today she closes with a thick chain and many padlocks. The aristocratic house is always dark. Only an out-of-tune piano can sometimes be heard. And a child's cry.
(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.