One hot summer day, Marek the confectioner brought his cooler to an alley in the park, but, when he opened it, he saw that all of his ice creams had turned into colourful birds. He watched them fly over the children's heads, who were laughing and clapping their hands. A grandpa asked for a vanilla ice cream, and Marek gave him a watch. Time is sweet and melts away, he told him. The old man took the watch and faded away silently through the clouds. When Marek was alone again, with his empty cooler, he counted how many stories he had collected, ideas for new flavours, for another day.
Monica Aldea
Sabina ran towards the hospital gate. Emil isn't coming, mom? The ice cream truck closes in half an hour. The woman searched for her husband's eyes. His eyes filled with pain said what the mouth couldn't. Go buy ice cream for your friends, he heard himself say. Three days later, Sabina was handing out profiterole to the kids sat in the garden. They were all eating in silence, the yard was no longer filled with their cheerful voices. The suffering melted away, just like the ice cream which was melting on Emil's empty chair.
Neti Niculae
She was running through the snowdrifts holding her in her arms, far away from the summer in which she had given birth to her. The clinic was far behind, but the echo whipped her all the way: pneumonia. If only they had lived in the city. If they had had wood to make a fire more often. If he hadn't complained about one more mouth to feed. Maybe a better God would have existed. Maybe the white dress wouldn't have been the size of a porcelain doll. Maybe her mother heart wouldn't have watched the small coffin, with the little girl frozen like a rose torn from life for cryonics.
(Translated by Raluca Sălcianu / 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.