was displayed annually on the gigantic wall of the museum, painted in a hue of white that was hard to define. Some considered it Opalescent White, OC-38, while others were convinced it was Chanel Petal White, OC-134. A group of more fastidious critics wouldn't accept that it was anything other than Mirage White, 2116-70, which only intensified the fervour of the new wave of young graduates from the University of Arts, swearing that it was Turtle Dove White, OC-57. The debate continued into the evening, with some leaving even before the unveiling of the winning cliché.
Florina Hegedüs
This indeed is an artistic pic, I hear them uttering, ecstatically. No one cared that I was dozing when they took it. They barged into my intimacy with their flash. Inside the realm of dreams that still do not speak. They zoom me in, zoom me out, and every atom of my flesh is studied virtually. From word-of-mouth, I have become picture in the mouth. For them, I am the only star of the year of grace two thousand and four. I wonder how eager they will be to take pictures of me when I start screaming night after night in my full diaper. Cheese.
Carmen Mihu
Rumour has it that the Bearded Man has pictures and videos of us on his phone. I only had knowledge of a book. And in writing, it was something else. Some sins went missing. But since this is the case, let it be. Ever since I found out, I haven't had any peace. How did he save me on his phone? Sinner 179328? Did he also save a picture? Taken from my good angle? Could it be some area without coverage? So I can get away with some sins, damn it. Ughhh. I think he's chuckling at the videos, just like us, at reels. Ughhh. What if he shares them with the saints? Oh dear. The whole sky will know me.
(Translated by Bogdan Macarie / 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.