The owner asked him if he liked birds, and when he confirmed, he gave him the room in the attic. Among the things in the room, he discovered a spindle wrapped with a thick thread. In the morning, he found the spindle on his pillow. He put it back in its place, but the next morning, it appeared on the pillow again. Then again, and again, with the thread unravelling more and more. At dawn, when he opened the window, the playful air lifted the thread, and it flew, wrapping itself around his leg. In the park, the children saw a kite, shaped like a bird, playing in the sky.
Ramona Ungureanu
Between two laughs, I write about crying, between two cries, about my husband who's cheating on me with a cashier, about sour milk soup, sour, sour, sour, my typewriter is jammed, all roads are closed and snowed in, in the middle of summer. I don't sell myself cheap, I don't sell myself at all, I rent myself for the night, without coins, for two stones that will quickly sink. Helloo. So, madam, are you renting the attic or not? Because I didn't quite understand at first. It has a skylight, it has a view of the sky, it does.
Nicolae Popescu
I climb the stairs with difficulty. I go in; it's the room closest to the sky in the city. The owner, as old as the world, gives me the brass key. I throw it on the table, next to the decanter of stagnant water on the once-white doily. I record everything, these are the final details. I approach the window and open it wide. The pavement is wet, the uneven cobblestones call to me. The wind tousles my hair, I imagine a contour drawn with chalk. I open a beer, it's always the last one. I take a step back. I sit at the desk, eaten by termites, and write a verse. There's still time, I've paid the rent for the month.
(Translated by Laurențiu-Gabriel Niculae / 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.