Delicate

Marian Bircea
That's it, keep it there. Press your knee on it, push as hard as you can. The other leg over its neck, under the chin. There, see? From the neck, three-four inches to your left. Hold the knife gently, place it there, close to the skin. The edge of the knife should face the skin. Move it to the left, then slowly to the right, then push it hard, make small, fast gestures, that way you'll cut its artery beside its aorta. Don't be compassionate about it, thank it silently instead. What are you doing? Man up. In his eyes I see a delicate, gentle little kid. I can't, dad.

Silvia Ștefan
That's what attracted me to you at first. Not arrogance, not the bulging muscles on your arms, not the bank account or status. You showed me that there is gentleness, meekness, ordered thoughts, stability, and consistency. You see? I'm the complete opposite. My eyes wander after everything: from men to diamonds, from cars to stocks, from Michelangelo to bananas taped with Scotch. My brain is a siren light charged by solar panels. My mouth? The same. You figured out how I work and you're pushing my buttons. Bless your delicate heart!
 
 Adina Drag
It snowed in the mountains, you, little girl. The forest is full of ghosts. The night was so hungry, it swallowed us up along with our thoughts. Towards morning, it got cold, and I went out for firewood, but the wind lifted me up and carried me all the way to Aunt Dora's yard. I was really surprised when I saw her arguing with God because her son had made a graven image to worship from now on. Only then did the cold really settle in my bones. You'd say I've gone mad, that I'm no good for anything anymore. If only spring came sooner.

(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)