I adore dainty little women like Vivi, my wife, a delicate soul with green eyes. Sometimes we have coffee on the terrace because she, being sensitive, can't stand my smoking-such a nasty habit. On Sunday, a little breeze blew a pair of red lacy panties into my lap, likely from someone's balcony. Hearing my darling approaching, I foolishly shoved the item into the pocket of my robe and forgot about it. It cost me dearly. Never mind the scolding and the fine after my delicate wife had a loud showdown with the upstairs neighbour, but what could I tell my boss? That I won't be able to drive the trolley for a while?
Victoria Gârlan Grigore
Mu was a fragile being, a butterfly with broken wings, hidden among the shadows of the morning. He led his existence on the edge of an abyss. The wind carried fragments of dreams in unfulfilled flights. Every day, Mu tested his wings, hoping to touch the blue sky. He always fell into the soft grass, soaked with dew. With each failed flight, his wings grew more fragile, yet his soul kept a mysterious light. One day, Mu soared higher than ever before, and the world watched in silence, as if witnessing a miracle of the ephemeral.
Aurelian Țolescu
I was fascinated by the flickering of the fire in the wood stove where my aunt baked bread. She had a huge basin of dough and was preparing pita for the workday in the fields. I fixed my eyes on the fire, took a small piece of dough, placed it on a stick, and held it over the fire until it changed color. I ate it hot, roasted on my fingers and tongue. I felt sick after too many raw buns. I heard my aunt calling out, Hurry up and bring some coal, this city kid has a delicate stomach, he'll get sick from it.
(Translated by Teodora Anghelachi / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by prof. dr. Nadina Vișan, edited by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.