We took one picture a year. On my birthday, they'd come, park their car in the yard, got out the presents, and tried to be friendly. Grandpa wouldn't look at them, he'd look for work at the cobbler's table, grandma would call them in the house and give them stew with polenta. God, did I miss this stew, they'd say. Grandma would ask: are you doing okay? They would nod their heads. You know, mom, it's a lot of stress. They'd wipe their mouths, we'd go out for the picture. All pretty much the same, them smiling, grandma with her hand over her mouth, grandpa looking away. And me.
Ana-Maria Butuza
An unruly wind blew the photographer's hat, triggering the flash as it landed chicly on a green umbrella dancing on a mountain of spaghetti. A pepper was chasing a tomato, dripping its juices over the pasta, while a fork and knife knitted butterflies that spread their wings and disappeared into the hat's hungry mouth. The photographer looked at the picture and transformed into a giant cocoon, immortalized on film. In an unearthly instant, the photo went viral on the internet, leaving a taste of pasta with gravy in the mouths of onlookers.
Monica Ciurea
The horizon can be seen from the top of the world. Light stands to the right. The wailing wall seeks its oblivion. In the valley, the wailing of the soul. I loosen the pierced coin from my finger and slip it through the slit of the panoramic telescope. The eye sticks to the lens. On the ground, a sea of people. I catch it in the frame. Zoom in. I can recognize her in billions. She's beautiful and she's part of me. Her body rejoices with life. I enter the womb, where cells divide, incorporating another her. She's still mine. Grandmother, mother, daughter, granddaughter, in her with great-granddaughter egg.
(Translated by Adela Neacșu / 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.