What stirred them seemed to be less of a noise and more of a song. The sounds came in through the window, filled the space, and grew. Heavier than air, they settled, shiny, on objects. Are those some tolling bells? Lena asked. I can't hear you, Mina replied. Is it a concert of bells? Lena gestured that she could not hear anything. A concert of bells? Mina shouted. The music was unreal and dense, pinning them in their place. When it faded as she left the room, they could finally laugh, those atheist, music-loving girls staying next to a church where a bell ringer held morning concerts.
Florina Hegedüs
Night has arrived in its own time; people sleep in their own time. Only one window was lit, painfully disturbing the darkness with a clatter of voices- It's your fault, No, it's yours, At that golden moment, you froze. Did you really have to focus on the silver chain? So I would not break it? It was important; it was from you. They rehearsed their words. Morning came in its time, fresh after a dew shower. How was your shift? -she asked the night. Listen to them. Walk quietly, I'll figure it out. And he gave a bronze orgasm for the couple. For their mere intention to talk. About.
Gladiola Chete
Legend has it that the Dacians were mystic in the Orăștie Mountains. The priestesses of the citadel knew the secret of its invincibility, which came from much love and trust. Many feared them. To see them brought misfortune, it was said. They could transform you into a stone statue or a cricket, an ant, whatever they wished. They brought offerings on the day of Sânziene: flowers, lavender, wine, and bread, begging them to be gentle. The Romans promised them gold and bronze to lower the energetic barriers. The Romans conquered the citadel. Too easily, some say.
(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.