Why are you giving the poor bastard more money. You've taken his house, his car, he lost his wife, his kids, what's he got to give you. His soul. Leave him, please with mother's tears. What soul, you make me laugh. Maybe you mean life. Don't worry, I'm a businessman, not a murderer. I'm not worried either. I know you're paying. I know moms like you too well, too late loving. You ruined his child soul and now you point your finger at me. Now he wanders night after night hoping luck will fill his empty heart.
Camil Popescu
Sometimes I hear the machine that keeps me alive. I'm in a coma in another world, and I'm dreaming this one. Faceless men in white coats run through a room, stop in front of the screen and play black red with the heartbeats. When they win, the dream will end. They'll send me back, back to the front, back to the trenches of the Second War that has never ended. We're all there, dozing for a few minutes, dreaming of this world before the next assault. Those on the Eastern front are already awake.
Ionuț Morariu
Death comes when it wants. And it's the same everywhere. But each to his own way. I was waiting for that special combo that comes once in a lifetime when it arrives. I didn't even feel it. Later, after the little judgment, in the purgatory of the fallen, it was shown to me that I had lived with it in my soul all the time. But what can I say. I didn't care then. Because it's always dark in the house of the soul where the gambler resides. It wasn't till the Virgin Mary told me: If you want light, wash those windows.
(Translated by Corina-Alexandra Belu / 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.