Our Daily Bread

Elena Fermuș
She lived far away from her aunt. She didn't know how long it had been since she last saw her. Now he had to see her, to take her on her last journey. He struggled to get the money for the train, and a compassionate neighbour took the children into her care. Seven of them. She sat them all down at the table. The woman had only a corner of bread, but many other goodies the little ones didn't know about. They didn't pounce on them, as they would have thought. Their little heads bent down to say grace, then they passed the piece of bread from hand to hand. They knew well that there was enough for everyone. That's how little siblings are.

Horațiu Dudău
I bake in the sun like bread in the oven. Bread smells nice at least while I stink of useless sweat. I pow like a fool year after year on this piece of land. I don't get much, but for something to put on the table. Because that's what I pray for. I wonder what the neighbour prays for to get beaten up every day. Even now he's chasing her. I have my back turned, pretending I can't see them. I scratch my butt a little, spit in my palm and carry on. An F-16 aircraft passes overhead. That's what the intellectuals in the village call it. That's what I call it too. They say they're doing tests. I'm kicking up dirt to make bread come out.

Ana Camelia Tetiva
Wreckage on the road. Horsemen rattling boilers, stoves, grinders, pans, shouting at gates. She follows her grandmother out at the gate, her heart trembling. He's not here, only others, including his mother. She goes back to the courtyard with a lump in her throat. Give me a hen and I'll add another bucket. I've got buckets, Paraschivă, better add a boiler lid to it. I'll add it and you throw some flour in, so I could put bread on the table. Suddenly she hears his voice. Is the girl at home? With burning cheeks she wraps in a cloth a round loaf of bread as big as last year was long.

(Translated by Adela Neacșu / 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.