He placed the watermelon on the table and sat down to rest a little. He used to be able to reach the market in no time at all, but now, because of the building site behind his house, it took him half an hour to get there. All of a sudden, he heard the unmistakable sound of a cracking watermelon. I chose it too ripe, he thought. He came closer to the table to check it, but he couldn't see any crack. Then he heard the crack again. He turned the watermelon around. Nothing. When he heard the third crack, he looked up, only to see, through the crack in the wall, a wave of dirt heading toward him.
Alex Micu
Florentina was a strong country lass, the embodiment of calm and self-possession. She always had something nice to say, some advice for everyone. She always helped when someone needed her support. She was so kind and nice, that you couldn't help but like her. She was struggling to raise her daughter. She had two jobs, and it wasn't easy for her, but for all that, God, she was so calm. Why am I using the past tense when speaking about her? No, she hasn't died. She has just seen her daughter's Instagram profile.
Alina Ilie
In the picture at the entrance of the city hall, there were a lot of watermelons, a record-breaking harvest. Among the hundreds of watermelons peeped the face of an old man who was smiling and holding Ionuțin his arms. The child was grabbing at his grandfather's sleeve, watching the green sea of melons in amazement. Two starry eyes weretwinkling at the boy, from under grandfather's hat. Then collectivization happened and the boy went to college, starry-eyed as his grandpa, but he was never to forget how they had sold the watermelons to pay for tuition that year.
(Translated by Mihaela Stănilescu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by dr. Nadina Vișan, edited by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.