I beg your pardon, Grigore, but I reckon our marriage sums up to this. Let me bring you up to date. On the left, 16322 soups, 5144 moussakas, 7486 stews, 1826 aspics, and 1532 other dishes. There would also be 12167 washed, ironed shirts, 11672 boxers, and underwear. Shall I go on? No? OK. On the right, almost nothing. You owe me big time. You're right, dearie, but let me read you my balance sheet. Don't read it, I got it. Our marriage is like a two-man prison. We're both prisoner and guard. At the same time.
Gheorghiță Mircea
The wall is so high that a tired raven coming from the Dead Sea bumped into it and crashed to the ground. Dazed, he starts cursing nastily. A hundred years ago, you could fly around here in peace. A young raven, walking along the wall, watched him from above. Old man, be careful how you fly around here, it's not like it used to be. This is the debtors' prison wall. Why, aren't all debts forgiven after seven years? Yeah sure, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Plus interest. Bye, I'm off, I smell death.
Laura Ghecenco
White. Blank. My screams are like echoes from another life. Forgive me. Forgive me. I am the ultimate sinner. I betrayed you for practically no good reason and no gain. Scroll, like, adore and repeat. I abandoned the musketeers on the dusty shelves, the myths were left on the bedside table, and the poems and plays ended up in the closet. Scroll, like, adore and repeat. Wrong. I want you back. Silence. In my white, deserted prison, I dream I write stories like the famous Marquis. I lack courage. I miss you.
(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.