The sun melts the pavement, the noises, the time. He goes to the window, pulls the curtains and then comes back to me and embraces me. I almost get lost in his big palms. He wastes no time and starts licking me passionately. He's got jam on the tip of his nose, the syrup runs down his fingers, from his lips on his beard, dripping on his chest. He finishes me quickly. He licks the edge of the cone with the tip of his tongue - the last strawberry-flavoured drips. I hope he never switches to vanilla.
Dan Banu
The birds all fell into a straight line along the border of the village. They had shocked eyes and broken necks. Among them, dry leaves started gathering in thick rolls. Even the wind seemed to turn back. During the day, the people gathered frightened in the main square and talked, and during the evening they sat in front of their TV and watched as the world fell apart. Ice cream at the end of the village, their hope for a better world, like a tall crystal wall that went up into the sky and in which birds, leaves and wind clashed.
Lucian Pătru
I have no physical condition. Or psychological. Barely even a human one. You give me a molehill and I'll turn it into a mountain before you know it, with only my mind. But my feet hurt. In a way, that's normal, if it's not a head. Even though I'm humble, I don't brag about it. When I rule, if you give me the infinity, I'll divide it by zero. Wherever I step, grass grows and next to me, every ice cream melts. I rarely sing like the blackbird, but when I do, an oyster makes a pearl. And more than that, I also have two hands with which I rub the berries of imagination against my lips.
(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.