The Ogres' Swamp

Iulia Stavre
The sun is a star of mellow light. The dominant colour, grey all over, comes from the endless blocks, glass, concrete and cement. The trees have died, the flowers rarely ever bloom any more, hidden on window sills, sharing a pot with some frail plants, away from the invaders gaze. The people's faces are grim, worried. There lays some grey dust on their souls. It looks like oblivion. It is actually the ashes of the books of the world that had been burned to a crisp in the cities' squares. They have condemned the writers to death. Writing has been prohibited.

Pamela Bojoc-Pricopie
The devil leisurely lit himself a cigarette, staring at the flame flickering on the tip of his finger. He had loved this trick ever since he was a small child and it still entertained him to set fire to something sometimes. Lost in thought, he opened a frail Bible. Mark 12:31. You shall love your neighbour as yourself. The letters caught on fire and yet another page turned to dust. He plucked a bloody feather from the wing of the defeated angel and wrote: New Rules. But wait, why should I do that ? The people don't need that, they're already doing a wonderful job. I'd better start writing. Title: The Ogres' Swamp.

Sonia Ungureanu
A short scream pierced through the thick fog that covered the willow trees around the swamp. She couldn't tell which bird had called its fear or bravery. Autumn was coming here as it was the time for unique photos. Her life had been nothing but a race through fog and mud and she had developed a special fancy for this place. Old Enache's tale had scared the wits out of the kids on the streets, but not her. She had been grandpa's fairy, immune to any ogres or dragons. It was really only the people who dragged her through mud. Grandpaaaaaa. The fog didn't move at all. There was a white feather resting on the camera.  

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


Real Fiction is a collective project started in 2013 by Florin Piersic Jr. The concept of Real Fiction continued to exist as a Facebook group, after a volume of stories was published at Humanitas Publishing House. (In January 2025, the group has 13,600 members.) The authors write ultra-short stories, with the texts limited to 500 characters (in Romanian, so the length of the English translation might be a little different) - a flash-fiction exercise on a topic that changes every few days. The group's coordinators are Florin Piersic Jr., Gabriel Molnar, Răzvan Penescu, Luchian Abel, Monica Aldea, and Vlad Mușat. (Drawing by Adrian T. Roman)

Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.