I Lost Your Address

Monica Ciurea
Ever since her boy had perished, she was also gone with her thoughts scattered all over. The body, a bone bag without tears and words, hadn't moved from the bed where she had crashed after the separation. She was flinching for a moment when was I calling her mother. The rest of the time, she was a living dead. And that's when I came up with a comforting idea. Everyday her boy would write her letter by my hand, and she heard him through my voice. Mother, do not worry, it's nice here, it's light and there are many souls. How are you, mother? I would tell him, she said at last, but you see, I lost his address.

Cristian Nedelcu
I met her in my senior year of university. She was my roommate's girlfriend. I don't know how I ended up falling for her, but, when I realized it, I started to avoid hanging out with them. After the funeral we met for a few times as friends. My friend's death took a great toll on me, but in all honesty, I was tempted to have a different kind of relationship with her. I knew I needed patience, she had loved him a lot and she was devastated. I searched for her after a few months. I was shocked to hear that she had killed herself. Not even now do I know where she has been buried.

Radu Gramatovici
Then I remembered how one evening you told me that you live on a street with the name of a priest[1], to be closer to God you said looking at me in all seriousness as you usually did. I took the streets one by one Popa Nan, Popa Tatu, Popa Soare, house by house and door by door. Nobody seemed to have ever heard about you. Nobody seemed to have ever met you before. But day by day, hope grew in me instead of diminishing. As the chances of me finding you died down, the more I felt your presence. Until I realized that I carry you with me everywhere. In the womb.
(Translated by Jessica-Polixenia-Cristiana Copilaș / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)


Real Fiction is a collective project started in 2013 by Florin Piersic Jr. The concept of Real Fiction continued to exist as a Facebook group, after a volume of stories was published at Humanitas Publishing House. (In March 2024, the group has 12,800 members.) The authors write ultra-short stories, with the texts limited to 500 characters (in Romanian, so the length of the English translation might be a little different) - a flash-fiction exercise on a topic that changes every few days. The group's coordinators are Florin Piersic Jr., Gabriel Molnar, Răzvan Penescu, Luchian Abel, and Vlad Mușat. (Drawing by Adrian T. Roman)

Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.