I have never met the new neighbour, I only know that she is alone and that she does laundry every day, in her courtyard there are pink dresses with ruffles that flutter in the air. I'm intrigued by their sensual fragrance, it permeates my whole house to the point that I have erotic dreams. I lurked at the fence just to see her, she was an old, withered woman. I felt awkward, betrayed by some girl's dress. I took revenge the next day, slinging mud, thousands of drops on the laundry. A week ago the neighbour stopped doing laundry and I miss that perfume, but today I found out she died of a bad heart.
Aurelian Țolescu
Every Thursday we met in Studio 36 to record the presentation of a show. She was a gorgeous, glamorous, white-skinned, very smart, freckled redhead. When we'd finish recording, we'd stand unseen in the studio in the dark and kiss for hours. After high school, we didn't see each other for 25 years until, on an airplane, the head stewardess caught my eye with her freckles and I recognized her. In three hours we told each other stories of our lives and warmed our hearts. No freckle was left without a kiss.
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
There were about ten of us in that apartment. There was one of them at the door. One night I tried to escape by jumping out the window. I only managed to twist an ankle, and he still got me. And he whipped me like an animal. What a lot of freckles this one has, he said, as he hit me, to the moustachioed man who brought us our bread. When our men released us, I spat in his face. Now, when I look in the mirror and see my scars, all I remember is this story. I'd like to forget it, but I can't. And then I just want revenge. To kill him.
(Translated by Corina-Alexandra Belu / 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.