Sakura

Cristina Daniela Dumitru-Pascal
She called it her cherry blossom. She raised her alone. He hadn't accepted that his own androecium had contributed to a faulty seed. The pedicel of her life was defective. She needed a heart transplant. Her petals withered and fell off one by one. At last, she told her I love you, Mommy. I'm tired, please let me wither. She had been on life support ever since. If a new heart cannot be found, she will soon have to disconnect the machines. You're sakura, I am kamikaze. And we are a match. She raised her fist full of pills.

Florentina Ghițescu
I passed by the cherry trees so often in order for you to notice me. All the neighbors knew me, you were the only one that ignored me. We were best friends until I fell in love with you. I don't know when you stopped being just my playmate and became the one who disturbed my nights. When I returned to my grandparents' village, the cherry trees were blooming again and two children were clinging to me. There was some wind, and the fog hovered around me. Only then did you recognize me. You came closer and the children called you: Daddy.

Cecilia Fofiu
He loves me, he loves me not, the little four years old girl was singing, tearing off the petals of the cherry blossom, when her mommy left. He loves me, he loves me not, at ten years old, when he pulls her into his bed at night. He loves me, he loves me not at fifteen years old, when she came home with the twins and couldn't find him. He loves me, he loves me not at seventeen years old, when he locks her in a house where only strangers come by. He loves me, he loves me not at thirty years old, when she was badly beaten begging in London. He loves me, he loves me not at forty five years old, when she groans for an envelope. She had ripped off all the petals off all the cherry blossoms in the world, still not knowing the answer.

(Translated by Andreea Cuprian / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)


Real Fiction is a collective project started in 2013 by Florin Piersic Jr. The concept of Real Fiction continued to exist as a Facebook group, after a volume of stories was published at Humanitas Publishing House. (In September 2024, the group has 13,320 members.) The authors write ultra-short stories, with the texts limited to 500 characters (in Romanian, so the length of the English translation might be a little different) - a flash-fiction exercise on a topic that changes every few days. The group's coordinators are Florin Piersic Jr., Gabriel Molnar, Răzvan Penescu, Luchian Abel, Monica Aldea, and Vlad Mușat. (Drawing by Adrian T. Roman)

Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.