Melanin, queen of the freckles, convenes the General Assembly. All freckles are to be present. Those missing will be slaughtered and their pigments divided among the others. So, it is decided. Tomorrow we conform, said Mela. Form, I think you mean, your majesty, a voice was heard. Who spoke? Silence. Who? Say who, commanded the queen. Dead silence. Cowardly freckles they may be, but not traitors. Good, said Your Majesty. So it is. Of many and foolish, I make one and good. One good one. The next day, a mole appeared on Marilyn's cheek.
Sanda Vaideș
You took me to the movies. You hoped that at least there we'd be safe from critical eyes, alarmed parents, our own emotions. We were also looking for dark places, like bats, where we could cling to each other and kiss madly, until our lips hurt. You were 20, I was 17, and Charlie Chaplin's The Great Dictator was on. At one point, I spontaneously caught a sequence and started laughing out loud. You got a kick out of watching me and told me to be careful or my freckles would fall off from so much laughter.
Roxana Catana Tarhon
She hates the freckles on his face. She hates us, her parents, too, because we gave her the gene, we're freckled too. She's heard god knows where that the sun accentuates them, so she dodges its rays as best she can. She's no friend of the wind, nor the rain. She doesn't seem to like bugs or leaves either. I don't know what to do with her. Thus spoke two neighbours in Aunt Aglaia's layers. The older and wiser one said to the young mother: Hey, did anyone tell her until today that she's a strawberry?
(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.