Tiny Franz's life was plentiful and predictable. It all came down to waking up, eating, playing, eating, sleeping. Even the walnut leaves in front of his house in Waiseburg fell every autumn no farther than the edge of the perfectly mowed lawn. The doorbell rang in alarm, and Leihmutter, the nanny, a 13 year old girl who looked after him on the weekends, answered. The news came down like thunder. A zebra escaped from the zoo in Amsterdam had trampled over Franz's parents at the traffic light.
Iulia Biro
Grigore downed his drink, shook himself off, and said: the only time I got hit by a car was when I was crossing at the crosswalk. Since then, I haven't followed the rules. A haiduc[1], that's what I am. The laughter shook the village pub. When the people calmed down, he slammed his fist on the table: another round for everyone, Geta, so they'll know they'll do well with me as mayor. And come sit on my lap, warm up my night. From behind the counter, Niță shouted: Grigore, when it comes to other men's women, I say stay at the crosswalk, otherwise, the train will run you over.
[1] Haiduc: a type of irregular infantry found in Central, Eastern, and parts of Southeast Europe from the late 16th to mid 19th centuries.
He came from a far away place. From somewhere in the infinity of the universe. He traveled worlds, timelines, galaxies. He took a smoking break in a wormhole. The light of the suns long gone out guided him through the universe's all-engulfing darkness. Cold and frost. From which he lit himself up a tail. Here he found water. Fresh.Springing from the frozen desert of a lava sea that once flowed. It went out before lighting up. A closed up world where even time had dried out. When it stood still a moment. On the crosswalk.
(Translated by Ioana Grințescu / 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.