He was standing barefoot in urine, his hands leaning against a wet wall, on which mould had broken through. It seems he was trying to move this Universe through the bars. He was humming a sort of lullaby, and his head seemed a bell of time beating from right to left, yet stuck in time. Time tasted like caryatids and was coming into existence as magnolias on white sheets, wet, rat-gnawed, broken, sheets, sheets. His brother had been a teacher of leaves. Latin. He had eaten him. Magnolia Soulagean has the color of the soul mate.
George Dometi
An amnesia had laid hold of the whole world. No one remembered hate, envy, unhappiness, misfortune and mastery. They were all one big, loving, flourishing family. The Zs loved the Us, the Sion loved the Shahada, and all the corridors of war and murder were forgotten in volleys of commitment and harmony. Mounds of rusted iron and bullets were melted in the forges of peace. In a lost village, beneath some discarded magnolias, a man cub was weepingly moving. With each whimper the memory of the world returned.
Cristian Palade
Ana was from Moldova and had moved to Argeș to live with Manole the master, a famous mason. One day, while the master was building the west wall of the monastery of Argeș, Ana, who had been calling out to him for minutes (Manolii, Manolii) to ask for his help, seeing that he didn't hear her, came down and started calling him out two steps away: Manoliii. The master climbed down from the scaffolding and returned in a few minutes with a basket of magnolia petals. All for nothing, Ana got annoyed to receive the gift. Manole got terribly furious and built her on the very spot.
(Translated by Florina Georgiana Țîncu / 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.