The snail looked thoughtfully at the huge stretch of lawn. He knew that the newly laid artificial pattern would greet him with tiny, unforgiving spears. The shell felt increasingly stiff. He knew well what that meant. He shifted his horns anxiously, looked left and right. The huge balloon flew into the air. It had tried too many times, but it would cross the stadium now. The game is over. With the last of his strength, he had won. This was his Mecca. The team captain picked up the inert little shell from the side-lines.
Ana-Maria Butuza
Ghițu doesn't speak, even though he is 12 years old. He doesn't even pay attention to those who call him the village idiot, but Lena's heart hurts, she knows that the boy is neither stupid nor crazy. She watches him sit for hours weaving thick ropes from rags, which he tightens like a ball. She'd like to buy him one, but with what money? Then, night after night, on the field at the edge of the village, she sees him chasing after the ball, kicking at the goal he made for himself out of sticks, raising his hands above his head, happy, and feeling that he has a dream.
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
The crowd was shouting the band's name. Everyone was jumping and dancing. I was euphoric and kissing my boyfriend. It was about an hour after the concert started. Suddenly, I heard a loud noise and saw a light that scared me. A few minutes later the nightmare began. I started imagining the worst-case scenarios, having palpitations and shaking. I just wanted to get out because I felt like I was suffocating. Every movement of those around me made me nervous. Andrei couldn't calm me down. Then I fainted.
(Translated by Andreea Cristina Moise / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.