At noon I sit down, I dip the nib in the inkpot and look for you in writing. I do not care what the people around me say, be it right or wrong, about me digging in the abyss. You are both my saviour and my curse at the same time. I feel your breath close to the nape of my neck, when with my eyes I plunge into the twilight and, I simply know we have the same thought. I reach to let you take the scarlet drops of the ink that are trickling on the page. I reach, but you evaporate when, at dawn, the editors drive a stake into the heart of the manuscript. At noon I perfume my imagination again, hoping that you'll bite it, to make me immortal.
After teleportation, his people on the Mirsa of the QnaGalaxy, on Terra, The Great-Myrrh, terrified, summoned telepathically his subjects, the Purple Myrrhians to complete a list with the Norms to be applied of the Regulation concerning the Survival Mode on Earth. My revered, with sorrow I will sequester the Transylvania area for a thorough study. I was obliged to interrupt thenourishment of brother Tiq. He has been severely infected, being in direct contact with a strange creature that is roaming the area. He's got enormous fangs and has become aggressive during the night. I'm still devastated.
Ionuț Tuhoarcă
A fight with samurais. The sheaths blunt. One stabs another. The third stabs the first. Oh, but what a shame. His wittle finger is wounded, he gets infected. He is on the brink of dying. That's the way I like it. Next time. The fight is fought by columns. One stabs the other. Bah, I'll teach ya a lesson. He stabs another one again. Ups, he was a friend of mine. Sorry, does it hurt? In my hands you'll easily get it over with. Sometimes a little heart. Sometimes a smiling, giggling face. My respects, lady. Sir. That's what I'm sayin'. Fiends these people. You give'ema bone. They put their claws on it. They say it's theirs. They leave you alone.
(Translated by Ana Maria Mitruș / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Real Fiction is a collective project started in 2013 by Florin Piersic Jr. The concept of Real Fiction continued to exist as a Facebook group, after a volume of stories was published at Humanitas Publishing House. (In June 2024, the group has 13,100 members.) The authors write ultra-short stories, with the texts limited to 500 characters (in Romanian, so the length of the English translation might be a little different) - a flash-fiction exercise on a topic that changes every few days. The group's coordinators are Florin Piersic Jr., Gabriel Molnar, Răzvan Penescu, Luchian Abel, Monica Aldea, and Vlad Mușat. (Drawing by Adrian T. Roman)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.