I jump off the cliff, from about 5 meters high, he stopped, erased that and wrote 10 meters, head first, into the water. I don't have to swim much to get to the shore, I jump on a bigger rock and I dry my fit body with a rough towel, without taking a peek to the two women sunbathing a bit farther. He chuckled. You are always writing, old man. Take a break, how is it useful for you, asked the nurse who came by to change his bedpan and to help him turn on his side, so he won't be bed-sore. Not to forget, honey. Not to forget.
Marian Bircea
I am forced to the same routine, with my feet stuck in the mud, to run heavily after the boat's ghost which passes too quickly through the thick fog, to try to catch the shroud that's embracing you, and then, with pleading eyes, to ask you to return to the light, too much you haunt doomed to sadness, thinking that wrinkles age you and that you're no longer beautiful, desired, so you hide each time when I try to steal a smile from you, and I forget where I put it, on the memories shelf or in a drawer in my heart.
Horațiu Dudău
One day, I was meant to pass on to the afterlife, but I forgot. It was to happen in the morning, but I am not a morning person at all. I didn't even flinch. My clock was striking as if it were the apocalypse. I think I punched it so hard that I shut it up for good. I got mad a bit. It was the last clock I had. I stayed on my back and put my earplugs in. The room fell into a dead silence. I heavily fell, asleep into a sleep like death, as my grandmother used to say. I hope I don't forget to wake up, when the time comes.
(Translated by Cristina-Paula Grosu / 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.