The Ogres' Swamp

Siranuș Hakobian
The door didn't close properly, and the roof had a hole where rain poured in freely. It wasn't an abandoned house because, from its heart, screams and threats echoed constantly. Once, the neighbours called the police, terrified by the cries for help coming from the depths of hell. Through the crack in the door that wouldn't shut, a poisonous vapor escaped-like sulphur or stale tobacco, mixed with the smell of digested alcohol and boiled potatoes. In the doorway appeared a figure with a greenish face and tangled hair: It's nothing, officer, just a slap.

Dana Popescu
  The mud envelops me, it engulfs me, it covers me, seeping into every pore. I don't know where it ends and where I begin. Each breath aches, I try to move, but the yellow eyes of Fear pin me down. I lower my gaze and take a step back, but Madness shows its teeth, paralyzing me. When the growl of Terror sounds ominously, my hopes are almost shattered. Exhausted, I struggle to rise to the surface, but thousands of tentacles drag me back into the morass where the faceless people have sunk me.

Daniela G. Pătrașcu
I simply don't care what those who know me, or those who don't, have to say. Before God, I know it's NOT my fault that she chose this path. I did everything in my power to make sure she had a roof over her head, clothes, food, education, and more. With kind words, tears, or scolding, I tried to explain to her that the path she chose was NOT good, that she is not only destroying herself, but also us, the ones who love her. No matter what I say, she accuses me of giving birth to her. She DOESN'T want to rise from the hideous swamp of drugs, and it's heartbreaking.

(Translated by Larisa Marta Mreană / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)