That afternoon, the students rushed in, driven by an unprecedented momentum. Helga, the time has come, the head of year told me. No time for formalities. His eyes were glistening. They scattered among the shelves. The floor squeaked under their feet. They were eager for literature. Proust, Kafka, Mann, Hemingway. They came out with their arms full. I remained glued to my desk, staring at them. In the evening, the sky above the Opera Square turned red. Where books burn, people will burn, I heard Heine's words in my temple.
Ionuț Tuhoarcă
Every morning I make scrambled eggs with ham on the balcony. I have the stove there. I get the ham from the corner store. The eggs from the center. I got the stove from a mall. On offer. Every morning the sanitation truck comes. Threegarbage men come down and start loading the dumpsters. It's dirty work and sometimes they smoke. I don't know when they have the time. Every morning I open the window and start shouting at them. I'm sitting at the fourth floor, what could happen to me? At the library, bro. They take a long look. I put out the cigarettes. They scratch themselves and leave.
Alex Caragian
Paradoxically, after I made my house, I went out much more often than usual. I was really looking for a reason to leave for the most insignificant thing, but every time I chose very short itineraries so that I could return as quickly as possible and enjoy the cocoon that my little house offered me. When we finished the site smelled psychedelic of freshly painted lime. The house was empty, but the postman had already brought me a package full of books that I had placed in the place where the library would be. Now it has puppies.
(Translated by Ioana Andreea Radu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.