You mean that the men from Real Fictions, controlled by Soros, Greta and Zelensky, think they can claim, with this, apparently innocent, theme, that Romanians are some delicate flowers? It's clear enough, just if you look at the picture by the theme, you can see the microchips in it. No "lit" site, this, in fact you use 5G to see what some creepy dudes, like Drăgoi, write, a guy who's clearly an orangutan, have you seen his face? True Romanians are not delicate, they're real men, apart from those that eat that Caesarian salad.
Elia Ghinescu
The crooked December sun pushes a few uncertain rays through the orange blinds of the living room. A rebellious strand of hair wanders across his forehead, escaped from the thick dark hair scattered on the pillow. His hands are still beside his body, over the sheet. The oxygen mask covers his mouth and nose, leaving only his eyes, asleep in their sockets, visible. The blood pressure, the rhythm, the oxygen-on the monitor, everything seems fine. Just like the yellow orchid on the windowsill. No matter what might happen, it's determined to bloom today.
Dan Banu
The one with the red wings was called Didi. The one with the blue wings was Midi. Didi and Midi were frolicking among the daffodils when they saw the intruder. They froze in mid-air, like insects pinned in a display case. The intruder was thin, almost transparent, with no wings, yet it flew just like they did. The two examined it carefully and concluded that it was most likely a playful chrysalis. The intruder passed between them, rose toward the sky, and disappeared into the heights. Didi and Midi looked at each other in wonder. Then they saw, in the grass, the man with chapped lips. He wasn't breathing.
(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.