Anuța had been wandering frowning ever since she had had to keep shut for the first time in her life. A terrific scream wiggled and jiggled inside her like a worm in the damp earth and she could no longer stifle it. In vain she kept cursing to keep her mind of it, the scream only got angrier and pushed its way out, crushing her pain against the buttons which were smothering all the silence under her vest. When the moon set for the ninth time over the hill behind her house, Missus Anuta decided she had had enough, she went up in the attic and started to unbutton the frayed coat shrouding the hatchet from her late husband.
Cristian Palade
Thunder. Lightning. Clouds pouring to the ground. The steaming river swallows everything in its way: withered trees, culverts, even an old house. The people are frightened and entire families, with their bare essentials stuffed in bags, flee to the city. Some will be put up by relatives, others will seek refuge in shelters or under bridges. The ones who won't leave pray to Good Lord to put an end to the deluge. A few children, cut off from reality, laugh and splash in a muddy puddle.
Oana Jindiceanu
Our lonely souls go on secret dates in private places: the cinema, the theatre, for a cup of coffee on a bench in the park, or simply wander along the streets. Our lonely souls are good mates. They talk to each other when we don't do so and I know for a fact they talk about us. My heart pounds in a strange way, and I even surprised them once. They were saying that they cannot leave things undone, the way you leave your collar buttons. They have to do them up somehow, because they are tired of being so scruffy.
(Translated by Alina Roșu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.