I was born on a land sanctified by the footsteps of many geniuses. I grew up at my grandparents. Grandpa often read to me from Creangă's stories. Later, we moved to the city, on Nicolae Iorga Street. I felt the shivers of my first kiss on a bench in Eminescu Park. I finished university below the lindens of Copou. Now I live on Boccaccio Street. Lord, what should I make of all these signs? For Your information, I'll tell You that my favourite novel wasWhenHeaven Had Rain. I didn't like Dante's Inferno.
Bogdan Sebastian Burjan
The first pages were like an abstract cover. Lines, cranes, and occasional little ink piglets. Then came the letters. Initially, block letters, then beautiful, cursive ones. There were simple sentences. Then they became paragraphs. When recounting his college years, he already had a PC. A Pentium IV. By the time of his wedding and the birth of his first child, he was already writing from a tablet. These were the first pages without grammatical errors. The second job, the second child, and the second wife were even easier to write. He used AI. He closed it. Abruptly. He had only one page left.
Titela Durnea
Years are like books, Iustina. Each one teaches you something, just don't go aimlessly through them.That's what grandma used to tell her while kneading the dough for her pies. She really loved the holidays at Corbu.Iustina was around 17 book years when Mother Pie left to join the righteous. Today she's a third-year medical student, a sign of purposeful living.The irony of fate is that the devastating diagnosis she reads is her very own. Mother Pie, I miss you, but I'm not coming yet. I won't be knocked down by Him. I still have shelves to fill in the library.
(Translated by Laurențiu-Gabriel Niculae / 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.