New Times

Bogdan Sebastian Burjan
Her eyes were hurting. But not from the bruises. It was from all the crying she had been doing all these 15 years. She couldn't even hear her bare footsteps as she ran barefoot across the cold cement. Almost frozen. She would have screamed with joy, with hate, with fear. But her lips were hurting. Her lips, dry and cracked. The rail was so cold she felt her feet burning. And the light ahead was getting brighter. She could feel its silent warmth. And her feet didn't hurt anymore, nor her lips, nor her empty eyes. Her heart suddenly leapt. Between the rails, platform two.

Răzvan Drăgoi
The past was new to me. They called it amnesia. I had a name that didn't belong to me. No one knew me, least of all I. The strange thing was that I spoke a language they understood, while theirs sounded familiar. I could understand it, somewhat, without being able to speak it. At night I had nightmares about the war. And they understood that the war that had just ended was to blame for my condition. It was strange when they realized that 450 years had passed since my war. Outside, it was sunny.
 
 Siranuș Hakobian
Please write in your statement how you molested the minor, the policeman said angrily, and the old man told him again: the child was crying in fear when he saw himself alone, that the mother came in to get cigarettes, and I took him in my arms. The policeman was very nervous: did you touch him? Yes, the old man replied, I stroked him on the head, because I was a teacher and I know how to calm a child. Even more angry, the policeman shouted: Sir, you are a repeat offender and you have touched other children. I don't understand, whispered the old man, I wanted him to stop crying.

(Translated by Florina Șamata / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)