I'm nauseous. The monitors flicker in the dark. Green, yellow, and red lights. Wires, tubes, and IVs are running into my arms. My throat hurts. Every once in a while, the alarms call the nurse. I ask for water. You can't, she whispers. Please, I feel like I'm dying. You're not dying, you're in the safest place. She returns with a syringe and I feel the cold drip on my lips. Is that better? Infinitely, yes. I try to move and the burn reminds me of it. At the foot of the bed, the bag collects everything I mean here. A man who must get through the night.
Gabriel Rusu
The clock goes off. I wake up. I wash my face, then drink my coffee in a rush. Then I get dressed and run to work. It's all against the clock. At the bus stop it's me and about ten other people, all with the same thoughts. I've paid the rent, the utility bills, including electricity. Ah, I forgot about the phone bill, I'll have to make do. How long till I get paid? 22 days, give or take a few hours. Hashtag I'm holding out somehow, but on Thursday, come what may, I'll cut out and put in a lottery ticket. Maybe I'll pull it off. Speaking of which, what am I going to eat today? Whatever I want. I'm a free man.
Fabiola Stoi
It's so cold, there's steam coming out with every breath. The nearly bare drawing rooms have a sinister, cavernous echo. That's why he whispers to the staff. At least they keep warm at night, in their shabby little homes, with their noisy families. He pulls on his coat and looks out the window at the fountain and park. His heart grows fonder with contentment. He will not leave his castle, let those bastards know it. In the morning the butler found him wrapped in his fur coat, slumped by the window, his eyes staring at the lined ceiling.
(Translated by Ana-Maria Batog / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by prof. dr. Nadina Vișan, Edited by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.