Every morning the same route. The same tram. The same people. Bonjour. Bonjour. Ça va? Ça va. Hell with Ça va, hearing screaming echoes within me. I don't even know who I am anymore. Despite having my ID card intact. I'm always in a hurry. Another meeting, today in a new place. I start the GPS. Oh, it's late. Where the heck is this taking me? I wake up in a meadow with daffodils. I didn't even know they were in bloom. I sit among them. I become a daffodil and look at the sky. There's a message there, written with cloud fluff. Remember to think of yourself from time to time. I promise.
Ionuț Morariu
Ask any blind person. The taste of apples is red. And when we love, son, we're all blind. It's written right there. Love is made with eyes closed. What do you say? That function creates the organ? It's possible. What I'm trying to tell you is that for a kiss, you need two mouths. There's no mistake. You just have to grasp this simple truth. The taste of apples is red. Sometimes cold, sometimes warm. Shall I speak your language? For your sake, I'll recalculate the route of my thoughts. And I'll tell you straight. Love her, son. Don't be stupid.
Florina Hegedüs
I climb stairs, I descend stairs. That's how my city is built to keep me alive, I explain to a tourist. But what's this wall? - he asks me. I don't know, it wasn't here yesterday - I say, astonished, and I collapse. A stop so I can't get home. Staring into his eyes, I beg him - Can you help me climb it? Delicately, the tourist grabs my nose and breathes kisses into me, one second yes, one second pause, and in flight he carries me over the wall, smiling defibrillator. Released from his neck, I invite him to climb, to slid down the stairs, through my city. This is our people's way to say thank you.
(Translated by Andreea Laura Stanca / 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.