When I look back, I've always wanted to be an actor, ever since I was a kid playing theatre behind the block. You learn in college how it should be and work on respect and truth, but then you get in and everything's all muddled up. Everyone has their own interests; they lie. You wonder: Is it even worth it? Are you really doing anything good, all while trying to avoid getting hurt? You know how it is with acting? Once you start down this path, it's like trying to turn a pickle back into a cucumber. In the end, you're still just a pickle.
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
I fly among plastic flowers. The hive, once full of life, is now empty. My sisters have left and haven't come back, lost in pollen-less fields. I saw the last one, trying to fly, but her wings trembled under the weight of chemicals. I'm still here, but I know I'm just an echo, a last echo. I only wish to see people planting flowers or letting wild corners grow, giving up on poisons. I have no other hope. I hope they will awaken. But if they don't, silence will become the sound of the fields.
Marius Stan
Nothing was right between us, just lies, rigged games, bets, worn paths. Everything that went wrong went wrong. A disaster. How much I loved you. Find your happiness independent of me, you said. Your palms were warm when we broke up. You were beautiful "like an angel appears only in a dream," your heart was beating to the rhythm of samba, then to Ciuleandra song, slow, fast, faster, even faster. My dear, my heart, how nice that you are here now, next to me. Don't worry. It will be okay.
(Translated by Eduard Mihai Uretu / 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.