The dawn spills over, and Miss Z. yawns. She twirls a strand of hair around her index finger, closes her eyes, and tilts her head back. The scent of the earth, which has been rained on all night, wafts through the window that opens to the orchard. A blackbird perched at the top of a tree competes in song with a troubadour and wins. Miss Z. giggles. A thump of a rolling pin on the table makes her jump as if burned. Large waves crash into a glass of water. Old woman Dora, the cook, laughs so heartily that the kitchen shakes.
Alina Ilie
I look at her little eyes, black as blackberries, the color of the eyes I fell in love with, and without wanting to, I search for the little hat with the duckling, but I find an eight-grade graduation cap instead. I feel the greatest emotions of my life. Next to her there are two women, one taught her to write God, and the other to never forget Him. I know that parts of their souls are instilled in my child. I don't know how I could ever thank them. Is it enough to nurture those fragments every day to help them grow?
Mirela A. Nica
I wasn't prepared for you. But here you are. Here I am. And here we are. And somewhere in between, you somehow became my favourite coincidence. E. V. Rogina. Spontaneous translation. Cool, this message is good for picking someone up, but it's not really you. What should I say, then? I'd invite you for tea, but I'm afraid I might violate you. Yes, much better. You said you've become more cerebral and less dreamy since you changed your prefix. Yes, but I didn't tell her that I'm also bipolar, it might just be a hormonal wave and not love.
(Translated by Claudia Garofina Greculeac / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.