I was around 8 that summer, when my dad sent me to buy two litters of draft beer for the first time. From the store. Don't let that one fool you. Uncle Marin, I mean. Don't let him add more foam, I mean. Hah, that you won't see. He hadn't added too much, but to avoid looking stupid, I took a sip. I drank and shook, shook and drank. All the way back. Maybe it was hot, because heat had infiltrated my bones and only a cold glass of wine from the fridge could put it out. Then, the man who turned the house around came by. And mom. Just so you know, your daughter's wasted.
Dan Banu
My head feels like it's wrapped in a hot metal crown, and the air around burns like the pyre in which Savonarola seeks his salvation. My mouth is drier than the Atacama desert, and my bones are soft like a rubber forest. Beads of sweat emerge on my bare body, lining up like soldiers and sliding down the bed. Wanna 'ave anothe' go, 'andsome? I hear a voice, and only then do I see the uniformly tanned body next to me. Come on, just once, she purrs, stretching over me and crushing the soldiers that were just lined up.
Beatrice Chivu
In the doctor's hands it still pulsed. He felt old memories fizzle out. His mother's warm bosom, the nettle sting when he learnt how to walk, how quick his heart beat when she kissed him back, his first beer with dad, the breeze in his helmet as he raced on two wheels, the accident, the heat of the asphalt and the blood sliding down the road. The doctor carefully opened the chest and held the rosy piece of flesh in his palms. Now it was heading towards a new life. To Her, who had waited for years for a new heart.
(Translated by Ioana Grințescu / 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.