I look at the picture and the title of the theme. Vacation, sun, sea, beach, a feeling named desire. Italy. Sicily. Click. L'uomo dai calzoni corti or L'amore più bello. A tear in the corner of my right eye and a sad smile on my lips. A memory from childhood. Traditions. Easter day, with brand-new jeans bought by my mother. Joy. Playful children. The agricultural cooperative's stables turned into a playground for the more lively. Hidden in the attic. Jeans hung on rusty nails. One broken leg. Two broken legs. Poverty teaches you to be inventive.
Elena Fermuș
I can't recall whose idea it was to tear our clothes, we were both crazy. And very much in love. We laughed under the sun and the stars, and we continued the game. The sack and the patch. We sewed together with threads made out of stories the torn pieces of ourselves and our clothes: on my dress, the white pockets from his bermudas, and in their place, my turquoise silk. That was all that was left, for destiny sent its merciless moths, and they ate away at the thread of our story. I saw him again after some time, holding hands with a little girl who reached almost up to the turquoise of his white bermudas. Why?
Roxana Catana Tarhon
I went to pay for the accomodation, but I ran into Ion and had a glass of plum brandy. Or two. Maybe three - I can't remember. You were at the beach. I tought of coming to you. When I touched the sand, I was suddenly hit by a wave of heat that I thought I was going to die. Well, my dear, just when I took off those red shorts, a seagull appeared out of nowhere, darted down, snatched them away and was gone. Along with the money from my pocket. So what now, Costel? Well, you'll have to clean the guesthouse for a week, and I'll guide tourists in the resort.
(Translated by Laura-Monica Doroiman / 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.