I hoped you would return in a different way, not in a Zinc urn filled with a fistful of ash. My son is a sturdy man, not a mound of dirt. I long to lay next to you in the grave. The dead alone don't suffer. I twist and turn in my bed at night, thinking how you've crammed yourself in that ravine to hide from burst fire and how the tank treads turned you into clay drenched in the blood of patriotism. I hate those who dream of peace with a gun in their hands. I hate that I cannot embrace you once more.
Laura Stanciu
These blue ones will surely fit me, Minodora said to herself and grabbed the loosest pair of pants she had from the wardrobe. She removed her nightgown with utmost precaution. Look, if I don't hurry, it doesn't crack at the armpits. With only her stretched underwear on, she tried her luck. She stuck her right leg first. It's working, it's working, stop. Goddamned calf. She rolled the pant leg down to her ankle. Hang on, the right leg is a tiny bit thicker. She lost her balance, got back on her feet, and tried the left one. Yup, I'll hem them.
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
He bit my shoulder. I pulled his hair. Then, he played with my toes and I gave him a massage. That's how the night found us as we fell asleep in each other's arms. At the crack of dawn, I touched his lips, and he kissed my forehead. As in a dance, we carried on till lunch, when we ordered sushi, opened a bottle of champagne, and started all over again, till Monday, when I packed my luggage and left. I promised him I would be back soon. It wasn't meant to be.
(Translated by Francisc Csiki / 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.