I don't understand what the woman in front of me is saying because I can barely hear her. My ears are still ringing from the last explosion. I gesture to her that I'm thirsty. She shrugs. Only then do I notice the wound on my knee. I don't like it here and I want to run somewhere else. I start counting from 10 to 1. I close my eyes, feel the wind, and let myself be carried by the darkness. Suddenly I'm too hot and I can't open my eyes when I try. Something hits my temple. It hurts. I still can't open my eyes. I panic. I scream.
Anca Socaciu-Man
I arrived at the train station. An abandoned train, from times long gone, beckoned me into the last car. Urged by an irresistible curiosity, I get up a couple of steps, open the door, and find myself in the past. Everything looked untouched by the centuries, on the table, a book and a rose, a painted coffer, a painting from which a lady smiled as she drank chamomile tea and read a book. A pressed flower in between the pages, yellowed with age, a knight caught in a story's page, started but never finished. One last chance.
Caterina Tudorache
She threw him a hate-filled glance. I only wanted you to love me. I was supposed to be the most important person in the world. His eyes were fixed on the spoon as he kept quiet. Uhuh, just like usual. I can never find something out. Our dialogue is a monologue in which I suffer and you ignore me. His spoon was moving meaninglessly in the ordinary plate. I didn't ask you for anything. I only asked for love. You loved me. I kept asking how we got here. I'm good till I'm not. His spoon wasn't moving anymore. Some spasms could be heard. Silence.
(Translated by Adriana-Maria Botea / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.