Sometimes the woman went to church, or rather to the ruins of the church. Not on Sundays or Fridays but randomly, when she felt the need to sit on her knees and listen to the genesis of the world. She'd forgotten the prayers she'd learned as a child, but it was enough to remind herself that not long ago the world had been good. Now almost everyone had committed a mortal sin. The war was at fault. But how much can the war account for? After all, it is human nature that has turned the tide of history. Take a tiny piece, it is the body of Christ.
Bogdan Sebastian Burjan
He had sailed the stormiest rivers. Through mountains, rocks and cliffs. He had seen new horizons when crossing the frozen fjords. There were rivers that had carried him into the desert. And into the jungle. And then he had reached the frozen waters of the Great North. He had struggled against the highest waves. From their crests he had watched the storm. And his beard had waved in the wind. He had emptied two casks of rum when he was shipwrecked. Now, back in his hovel, he lit a candle. He could see the harbour, the lighthouse and the sea in the distance. Out of the old, dried out bread he got himself a slice.
Magdalena Daminescu
There was a time when bread was black and you got it by the ticket. It was my job to buy bread for the family and my biggest concern was not to lose the ticket. I would hide it well into my fist, because there were plenty who didn't have a ticket either. One time I even took a beating for it. If I grabbed it fresh and warm it wasn't too bad. Back home, I'd quickly make the sign of a cross over it, cut a thick slice, smear it with lard, salt and paprika and go out into the street. A circle would form around me and I'd start bartering with other kids for a bite.
(Translated by Adela Neacșu / 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.