Three Days of Fasting

Dana Popescu
are enough, Father, for sinful touching? the man asked with sorrowful eyes. It's only too little, he repeated gloomily. And if she is paralyzed with fear and prays that this nightmare will come to an end, how much should you fast? A year or two, right? But what if she is tormented by shame and guilt, should we add some more years to the ecuation? Then, it means a whole life of fasting is too little, he said, wiping the blood off the knife on the priest's cassock. For defiling my daughter, I saved you the trouble of fasting in this life, for the other children, you will pay the price hereafter.

Răzvan Dițescu
Everything crashed in an instant and a cloud of darkness, debris and dust surrounded me. I want to come out. I push. I use my fists. I shout. In vain. Silence is oppressive, fear is crushing me. My heart is racing. Three days have passed. Thirst torments me more than hunger does. What if they don't find me? Every bit of memory hurts. It hurts like hell. I don't think about anything any more. I am tired. Oddly enough, I am at peace. Thy will be done. An angel materializes into the light of a flashlight. I am saved. I'll stick around for yet another while.

Monica Aldea
Prâslea^[1] climbs up the Watchtower. He will be on watch^[2] for 3 days. He may climb down only when necessary. The first night, nothing uncommon. The second night, he turns the spyglass to the South. He can see the Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood going to granny together to bring her victuals, talking cheerfully. Rushing into villages, the ogre shares his hunt prey with the villagers. The third night, to the North, he can see the Mother of Dragons coming to tell stories at the village sewing bee. Prâslea gets down at the end of his shift and gobbles up a golden apple. It seems that keeping watch on an empty stomach does not agree with me.