Carmen-Ecaterina Ciobâcă
Or rather, I write to live. When they let me go, after that night when they beat the piss out of me, they said: write, boy, write anything, just write. After all, it's not that hard. Stories come to me on their own, I don't have to look for them. So I take a sheet of paper and write: Pavel of Ciulin[1] listens to unlicensed radio stations. Mihai Savu drunkenly tells jokes about the comrade. And Ion Aman plans to go to the Serbs. Signed: Demosten. Knock knock. I quickly hide the sheet. The matins begin, Father Damaschin.
[1] Ciulin is translated as thistle. Here, it is used as a last name.
Alex Caragian
My dear, dear, I hope these lines find you well. You should know that I live from day to day, but I still live. Still. I have discovered the mystery of words and stringing them on paper is solace to my tormented soul. Remember, even when you're alone, someone still thinks of you. If we don't take care of ourselves, who will? I send you this letter from future to remind you to believe in yourself when you find you have better things to do. Signed, You the elder.
Nicolae Popescu
It all started with Gore the fat. He came to me thought-out and said: Bro, I see you read and write well. Write me a note for Maria, to convince her to go out with me. He gave me five lei, I wrote him a little letter. It happened that Maria was my girlfriend. It was easy to arrange for her to meet him once. We had fun, I gave her half the money. That's how my little business started. I've been writing, on paper, on screen, millions of messages ever since. As long as there's still love in the world, I write. Maria and Gore are together since then.
(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.