Some dig for water, others drill for oil. Only I pick my nose, waiting to find some light. To roll it into little balls. To light up the darkness of the soul and bring a bit of moonlight. And sunlight in all four chambers of the heart. Where I never use the vacuum cleaner. Only a broom or the UV lamp, which is also from our Lord. That way, I can sit comfortably at the spruce wood table and en(tomb) my words in biocide. A workbook. A book filled with labours. Oh, how I'm waiting for vacation. Because it works me so hard. My pride.
Dorin Vasile
If the Berliner had stopped in our town, all the Germans would have gotten off and never left. We would have long streets lined with perfectly aligned blockhouses. A bishopric, a regiment, a national theatre, a medical school. None of that. Just fluffy days with long and lazy hours. On crooked roads, we drag ourselves to the rhythm of a slow cognitive tempo. At the edge of town, the factory rises slowly. Real crowded. A man is shouting something through a megaphone. Want to satisfy your wife? Buy a relaxa mattress.
Daniela Toader
The balcony door opens with a metallic grind, hard to imagine that from the window of apartment thirty in the building across the street, someone is watching my every move, all my pacing back and forth, every night, the same gaze glued to me, to my gestures, to my life, and I called the police, dialled nine-one-one, but they can't intervene as long as there's no proof, so all that's left for me to do is draw the curtains and fall asleep, said and done, all these happened yesterday, before I jumped.
(Translated by Briana Guriță / 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.