When the needle pierced my vein, like an anopheles thirsty for blue blood, I knew there was nothing noble in it, but not even ten seconds later, recycled butterflies began to flutter inside me, my neurons became thousands of galaxies, my organs started to catch fire, through my ears burst fountains of minerals and carbon, and my nostrils were invaded by the scent of the flowers on your grave. There is no point to being a prince if I can't be with you, I thought, and pushed the needle even deeper. Wait for me.
Oana Jindiceanu
My hand slowly drifts up and down, and every movement is followed by a distinct sound. Before long, music which only I can hear is created. One, two, three and ten. Cold water is precisely what I need right now. My hand stirs, stirs. Then I wait. I wait. I am tired, as Russian psychological realism. It will boil for long. If only I could rest. I replay scenes from Oci Ciornie: the scene with the hat and the reunion in the barn. I stir, and stir, and then I turn it off . I let the coliva cool overnight.
Ana-Maria Butuza
I saw my friend again after a long time, and from one thing to the next, I began to pour all of my bottled up sorrows. I kept rambling, and she kept quietly listening, which calmed me, but also encouraged me to carry on. After a while, I noticed as she absently rolled her eyes. I expected her to tell me, as she often did: relax, darling, take a deep breath, but she did not say a word, only her eyes moved around erratically, which made me fall silent, embarrassed. At one point she took off her earbuds and looked at me: what were you saying? Here, listen to something cool.
(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.