Solo

Lucian Pătru
I've had it up to here with your attitude. You don't like how my leaf fits, how the angels sing, you keep asking how much longer until I discover fire, blah, blah, blah. Ever since you showed up I haven't had one God-given day of peace, Adam flared up. Cursed day. The archangel comes to preach and you send him to me. You've got apples, you've got pears, you've got cacti here, all the trees in the world and you keep whining about the one with the snake. That's it. Pack up your crap and go back to your mo-. To the Lord. And give me back those two ribs before you leave.

Caterina Tudorache
The Golden Apple unexpectedly entered the little hut. Paper White grumbled, head turned to the side and toothpick in mouth. Someone should invent the doorbell, so we can get rid of ballsy apples. Grumpy slammed the cards on the table. Full house. The other 6 dwarves started crying. Quiet, Paper White bellowed. We play until I win. Let's go another round. The Apple whispered in her ear that the Prince was waiting for her. Disgruntled, she picked him up by the stem and threw him out. I'm not getting married. Păcală[1] raised his hand. I'll take a bite out you if that guy's rich. I need to get back on my feet. I just lost all my money.

Titela Durnea
You get off at the next stop, Minu. You can handle it from here. It'll be alright. The muggy train slowed down to a crawl with an ear-splitting creak. He shouldered his leather bag, all worn out at the handles. He looked at his father, trying his hardest to hold back his tears. He clutched the violin case close to his chest. Mendelsshon's world waited before him. Behind him were Bursucu's tail and Firuța's milk. He pushed his shoe's ripped tongue into place and took his first step. It was very warm for a September day. His left shoulder smelled of angels.

(Translated by Bogdan Nicola / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / 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.