Baloney

Dan Banu
A meadow of blooming clover was in front of the mouse's house. A trap stood in the middle of it, like a scaffold raised in the Great Square. His instinct told him it was a trap, but the craving gnawed at him. It wasn't until the iron hissed that he realized the horror. But the jaws of the trap snapped shut with a dry click. When the mouse returned in the evening, the man had gone through all the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. The mouse loosened the man's hand from the trap, the one holding the baloney, and went to bed. The man kept his eyes open for a long time.

Răzvan Dițescu
I had to escape. Otherwise, I would have ended up just like my sisters: full of mustard, between two slices of bread. I was next. It was the time. As soon as he closed the door, it was dark again. I am going down shelf by shelf down to the vegetable drawer. I wait, trembling. The hungry ones come even at night. When the door opened, stealthy like a ninja, I hid under the fridge. I don't even dare to breathe. Sweat pours down my body. I hear someone snoring again. Only then do I muster the courage to slip outside. I head toward the gate. Two glowing eyes were waiting for me.
 
 Ina Moldoveanu
I am fantasizing about him. I feel his unique scent all over me. I am trying to seduce him. I am teasing him, touching him just enough to excite his skin, and then let him cool off in the fridge, among the ice cubes. My dose of sadism activates his flavors. I prepare the bath of beaten eggs and hot oil. Now I am slicing him and sigh with pleasure. I can't wait to sear him a little. I'm salivating in front of the hot, naked flesh. I take the first slice. An explosion of sensations. Wife, this is blasphemy. There cannot ever be vegan baloney. This tastes like sole.

(Translated by Alexandra-Ecaterina Sandu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)