Here is Where I Hide Myself

Tina Dublea
Everyone is looking for me. Not quite everyone, but they don't where their head is at. I don't hide from them, quite the opposite. If you were them, would you think I'm in a jar of vegetable spread with mushrooms? Or in a lantern bulb in the fog? Or in the violet of the iris flowers? In the smell of warm asphalt or in a cat's nose? In some dog's eye? Logically, they can't imagine that I'm in a cup of tea or in a kind word, in a dewdrop or that I'm the wind among the leaves. Petrică, how do I tell them that I'm a decomposing God?

Victoria Gârlan Grigore
That night, something different was floating in the air, a subtle restlessness, like a light breeze that barely moved the window curtains. As I tried to sink back into my world under the protective blanket, I heard a faint sound, an almost imperceptible murmur. I raised the flashlight, and its weak rays cut through the dense darkness of the room. Then I saw it. A slender figure, wrapped in a long dress as black as the night that smelled of roses. She stood still, by the window, her face hidden in the shadows. Grandma?

Mihaela Vicol
His childhood was the cause. Because he liked to hide but he had no one to hide from because he was alone. So he started playing imaginary, daydreaming. After years and years, when the mirage shattered, he continued to behave the same way in real life. Only here, he was totally disappointed and disgusted by the incapable world that was unable to find him. He wished he was not forgotten or lost. Now that you have read this far, he continues to hide even through your thoughts, dear reader.

(Translated by Eliza Radu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)