The three baby goats were looking at me, smiling from behind the window. Perfectly aligned by height. The oldest, with his eyes as blue as the dawn of a late spring. The middle one, with his charming smile at the corner of his slightly parted mouth. And the youngest, more timid, holding firmly to the windowsill, laughing with all his teeth. I'm sorry I'm leaving, leaving them like this, alone with the door open. I hope the goat will come back from the forest soon. To see how beautiful they are. I tied the sack with their torsos inside and wiped my muzzle with a paw, wiping away the blood.
Dan Banu
At 7 Rue Amelot, on the ground floor, lived Rolan, a funeral undertaker, a staunch misogynist, bald, and deaf in one ear. On the first floor lived Armand, a cheerful drunk, a gambling addict, arrogant, and slicked with brilliantine, while on the second floor lived Julien, a geography teacher, a virgin, stutterer, and completely broke. Mademoiselle Coco descended from the attic, skipping the stairs two at a time, with her skirt flying. Through the cracked doors on each floor, long obscene whispers slithered like venomous snakes.
Carmen-Ecaterina Ciobâcă
White little houses lined up in the Mediterranean sun, sparkling azure pools, winding alleys crowded with people, couples searching for a spot for photos, retirees with selfie sticks elbowing their way through, ships with crowds of tourists spilling out of their bellies, terraces with sunset views, souvenirs made in China, gyros, saganaki, tzatziki. From the port, the path zigzags up the caldera wall. Tired beasts of burden carry travellers and luggage on their backs, after which angelic wings grow and they rise gently toward the paradise of donkeys.
(Translated by Miruna Baicu / 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.