Maybe it's true, but I doubt that my parents had met on the shore. Only if that's how they called that bank above the waterhole in which they used to bathe between two series of haymaking. Of one thing I'm absolutely sure: my life will end on a shore, by the sea. What I leave behind? Firstly, the name on a document with the words terminal stage underlined in a red marker. Other than that, nothing. Now, I'm on a rock, counting the waves and I'm glad I don't know how to swim. Three, two, one, go.
Florina Hegedüs
I place the chair under the chandelier and go out to make the last reading of people. In the pedestrian zone, from the seashore, the hanging sun touches the ground. It was a damn beautiful day. Inside of me there's still raining heavily and I'm blind to the souvenirs on stalls. At restaurants entrances waiters with champagne trays invite you in. Near the seashore, the sea spits salt on me, the wind blows me cold swears. I give back to the sea the salt in me and return home, infested with life. I put the chair next to the table and begin writing. The first poem.
Alina Ilie
where the wind overturns the reed shadows and the shadows of doubt, a few hair strands escaped her linen headscarf to mess up with her sight, already so troubled by memories and rosé. The scent of salt overflows her small nostrils and coughed strongly. I said yes and he disappeared. She lifted her right hand to admire the ring and sighed. Maria, Maria, here, in front of you. She looked there. The boy's face lightened up with a smile, offering her a purple bouquet of hydrangeas. It took me a while to decide.
(Translated by Andreea Sorana Oltean / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.