It's midnight. I'm twelve years old and I'm sitting with my dad at the kitchen table. I'm sleepy, but my dad says that's how champions are forged. Sleep is for the weak. He wants to talk. He makes me recite Blue Flower. They don't do poetry till high school, but I'm a child of 10 and I have to know it. The world is sorrow everywhere[1]. He weeps and pours himself another glass. He's always trying to beat his record for the number of drinks he's had. And as far as I can tell, and I'm the most observant person in the world, Dad is no amateur.
[1] Translated by Corneliu M. Popescu
Costică Tihan
Chiquita took the children, a suitcase of clothes and off she went. She met Amna at the Shakespeare Pub, across from Victoria train station, hurriedly navigating the anthill of people and the stuffy air. I'm gone, it can't go on like this, he's cheating on me. Sit soft, Chiquita. They ordered a Jack and fish & chips. To hell with gastronomy. Calm down, honey, did you catch him? No. Did you find any phone messages or notes? No. Then how do you know he's cheating on you? I know. What can I tell you? You're a great champion of invention.
I know you don't trust me, but I swear, Maia, my siberian hamster died. He suffered and I was sorry. And, starting with Oh, my champion, I remembered I hate manele. Let SEPULTURE come, I thought to myself then, to repair the valley drilled in the INNER SELF, to take ATTITUDE. So, the hamster was old. We buried him, without much pomp, in TERRITORY, in the back yard, next to the piggy, cat and dog, among the ROOTS Bloody ROOTS, RATAMAHATTA, mouse, I loved you. Good thing you left this CHAOS A.D..
(Translated by Iulia-Mihaela Țugulea / 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.