She wanted to burry herself in the ground. She had to make up an excuse for her absence from her daughter's coming of age, but she did it for her daughter's sake, so she wouldn't feel bad. Her classmates came from well-to-do families. Their mothers were ladies, while she was a wreck. She had neglected herself a lot. Otherwise she had handled everything: the flowers, the gift, the restaurant. From her savings. For a couple of years she'd been saving up for that. She'd almost fallen asleep when her daughter burst into the studio with the cake in her hands and all her classmates after her. How could I blow out the candles without the one who gave me life?
Titela Durnea
It's been three days since she put her phone on silent, turned off notifications. Not that the gesture has added value to her existence. She hasn't been of interest since Grig died. Especially since she'd given up her job then, too, in favour of a healthy digestion and her new employee, an ambitious, promising woman. She checked the clock. 5 P. M. Time for the park. The bench had become her ally. On the lake, a black swan. She was sure there had been two until the other day. She sank deep inside herself, put in a fifty and commanded her heart to sing.
Gabriel Rusu
Ethan Hunt would've been jealous of our little Andreea. The girl worked smoothly, leaving no trace behind. In religion class, she politely asked permission to use the restroom. We loved her so much, we always left sweets with a note on her student bench. For example, Stoica English, colon, star. One day the headmaster stormed into the classroom. After taking his anger out on the religion teacher, he tried to get the scoop from us. We were speechless. We all knew that the catalog was left unattended every Thursday in the staffroom.
(Translated by Adela Neacșu / 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.