29.09.2024
Laura Bercean
Bloody nostrils gulp air from the bag, and the brain plays on him. Its always the same. A world without pain, cold, without hunger. A human with blister-free feet, with ribs that don't ache, with clean nails and the smell of the new clothes. A world where mom doesn't cry, dad doesn't drink, brothers don't beat him. He wants the scenes of him laughing on repeat. But outside, the laughter is grotesque, the face distorted, the movements chaotic and bizarre - the homeless man keeps himmself warm, from hunger, keeps himself the feeling of being loved. But life beats the movie - the train has arrived. Go home.

Cecilia Fofiu
You brought me this troublemaker, his mother grumbles with a lour. They both smile sheepishly and awkwardly. The offspring, a wildflower, tranquil, weak in mind. The woman, a tinkle, with bloodshot eyes from much crying. A wretch, with hidden pains diluted in alcohol. They all mock her and pay for their drunkenness, laughing like fools. Gently, he took her hand and, without knowing how, opened her soul. He tenderly holds her close as he tells her about the most miserable film. Only you could calm me down, she says. If I stayed awake, I would hear them screaming in flames.

Răzvan Drăgoi
The unseen death. She undresses. He undresses. They look at each other placidly. The camera wanders from her remarkable, and seemingly natural, breasts, then reaches to his penis, which, due to its exaggerated size, appears either as the revenge of the white race or as something photoshopped. His gaze tries, but fails, to mimic the enthusiasm. She makes an obscene gesture with her mouth, stifling a yawn. They get on the bed. Ah, I'm going to blaze up. Then a guy in overalls and a helmet appears. Did you make sure to turn off the gas? Romgaz company. Because you never know when it might explode.

(Translated by Miruna-Gabriela Flipache / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / 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 April 2024, the group has 12,860 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.

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