Mission: Impossible

Nicolae Popescu
Dobey secretly fancies Snow White. He can't talk but has read all the books in the forest library. He writes her a note: Dear White, I dream about you every night. Please meet me tomorrow evening at the ranger's shelter to show you how much I love you. He inserts the letter in the envelope, sneaks into White's room, slides it under her pillow, and leaves one corner out. He heads toward the door but stops and twists in his long shirt. I didn't write it well, the text doesn't flow right, he thinks. He goes back, pulls out the envelope, and inserts five hundred euros.

Cristian Nedelcu
Dopey had just got out of the house, when Grumpy entered. Seeing the envelope's corner poking from under the pillow, he pulled it out and found the money. He stuffed it in his pocket, crumpled the envelope, and threw it in the trash. Hearing knocks on the door, he opened it. A wretched hag tempted him with some plump red apples. Covetous by nature, he couldn't help himself and greedily bit one apple. With a brief snort, he dropped dead. The hag picked his pockets, found the money, stuffed it in her bra, and went about her way, laughing sadistically: oh well, let's see what prince will be kissing you, you nasty dwarf!

Caterina Tudorache
Ion raised one arm in the air, and a finger cut through the hot air from left to right. So, what if I'm drunk? I'm being attentive. The news be saying 2. I be saying 3-4. Just to be sure. He laughed, some spittle shooting through his handful of teeth. I. The finger was groggily cutting through the air still. Water. I. Puff. His head fell backward, his belly shot forward. You're sayin' who? Leaning on the fence, he checked his soaked pants. Who? I should work? What's the mayor doing? Who voted him in? This halfwit forgot I was already at the pub when he was diapers. How could he cut my welfare? How am I supposed to hic-hydrate myself?
 
(Translated by Francisc Csiki / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)


Real Fiction is a collective project started in 2013 by Florin Piersic Jr. The concept of Real Fiction continued to exist as a Facebook group, after a volume of stories was published at Humanitas Publishing House. (In August 2024, the group has 13,230 members.) The authors write ultra-short stories, with the texts limited to 500 characters (in Romanian, so the length of the English translation might be a little different) - a flash-fiction exercise on a topic that changes every few days. The group's coordinators are Florin Piersic Jr., Gabriel Molnar, Răzvan Penescu, Luchian Abel, Monica Aldea, and Vlad Mușat. (Drawing by Adrian T. Roman)

Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.