Mommy and Daddy

Camil Popescu
And, as I was saying, the first encounter with the natives turned out all right. Shakira was the common denominator. The black guy with the iPhone remembered that he had to throw the spear at the hapless fellow without a helmet. That one sank like a stone. A cry of joy erupted from every lung. The prey was taken, and we headed off to the center of the village. There, next to the most imposing hut, Mommy and Daddy were sprinkling herbs over a cauldron on the fire. It'll take a bit longer to cook than a hen, but it'll be done by lunch, they told me. I swallowed dryly.

Adriana Patroi Miu
You scruff, where are your mommy and daddy, should we let them see that you can't even handle eating an ice cream? The boy was only 3 years older than Marc. They were in the same grade. He teased him all the time: in front of other pupils, on the bus, even in the restroom. He teased him for no reason and, seemingly, without knowing him. Marc stayed calm. His eyes fixed him with an ice-cold glare. Thick veins curled around his small hands, stained with vanilla and strawberries. They are... and his head tilted slightly toward the graveyard in the valley, and they want to meet you, he continued.

Ruxandra Comșa
The frontier guard seemed to be decent when he said, Go back, on the other side it is worse, I'll pretend I didn't see you. I was looking out into the distance at the rivers of milk and honey rippling abysmally, but I still remained with one foot hovering in the air. I can't. Where I come from, the rivers are of poison and venom, children are born with two heads and many hands. But you've got two hands and a single head, he said, pointing his weapon at me. My brothers are normal. My parents say that I was born deformed, that I carry the flower inside. The frontier guard pulled the trigger. The flower received the bullet with grace.

(Translated by Alina-Alexandra Șovar / 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 July 2024, the group has 13,200 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.