30.09.2024
Caterina Tudorache
The skull was turning slowly, catching the diffuse light. To be or not to be in the twelfth hour subdued by the essence of the world, a baritone voice boomed. The compensation of hedonistic ideas, marking the identity. At night, beings of twilight. A pot of paint suddenly fell. Silence. The rumble of applause awakened the sleeper, dozing since scene 2, practically during scene 1. Amazing. A ma zing. Encore. You're the best! he screamed, slapping the ears of the dromedary that was still asleep. Come on, sucker, go home, because I've never seen such a worse movie than this.

Gheorghiță Mircea
He had no more cigarettes, searching for a stub in the spilled ashtray that stunk up the air. He drained what was left at the bottom of the vodka bottle and, cursing the cigarette butt that burned his lip, he watched her sleeping with her tangled hair over her face and her breasts spilling out. She drank too much, but at least she understood him. He kissed her, tasting the sour smell on her, and left for the station. He picked up his suitcase from luggage, took a shower in first class, and changed. At 9, he entered the villa, kissed his wife who received him indifferently, and sat down in front of a coffee mug with BEST DAD EVER on it. How was it?

Horațiu Dudău
He didn't love her. He stayed with her just to have somewhere to be. The days didn't begin or end in the small studio apartment. They just continued, like episodes of a stupid TV show. The horror inside him grew just like the mold on the bathroom wall. He imagined how he would tell her that he's leaving. For months now. But the silence between them was hard to break with that subject. One day, someone knocked on the door. It was her mother. Surprised and unenthusiastic, he asked her if she wanted coffee. I came to tell you that she's pregnant. It would be good if you stayed here until after the wedding.

(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.

0 comentarii

Publicitate

Sus