With popcorn in his beard and belching black beer, God from his cloudy armchair says, Hey, Petrică, where's my cherry scarf, we're breaking the spider's web tonight. It's the final. Ah, what shimmering shivers on the path of light that track gives me. How was it? To which Petre with his voice in off said, Let there be flood, let there be wind, I'll sing for the football club Rapid. From six feet under, I'll shake with a word. May the whole world die, may it be the darkest day, I'll sing for the football club Rapid, no matter how or when.
Titela Durnea
When darkness took over the jungle, the air was filled with terror. Primates, snakes, tapirs, hung to the vines, and hid their fears in the river that split the forest. The puma and the jaguar had already announced their bid for Amazonian supremacy. The third candidate, secret, late. The decision was to take place in a few moments. The suspense grew as the silence grew. Big surprise when the votes were counted. The clear winner, the Sloth. He waved his two fingers in victory and thanked the Romanian PR man.
Diana Cornea
She didn't know. She lived with grass on her and breathed through the thin branches of the stage. Every once in a while she would catch a glimpse of an eyelash of the past and then she would seem to tiptoe up looking, in the top drawer of Grandma's cupboard, for chocolate. She was pressed down by the veiled sky in midsummer with its small, wispy clouds, and it swayed like a child of no man's autumn. In winter, she had her cradle in the book. One day a young prince sat beside her old body and drew, in a single line, a lost love. Aces of the world, the artists.
(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.