The old man thought he might offer people some Christmas presents, something which didn't cost anything, but which brought a lot of joy. Since sadness was spreading throughout the world like plague, he started to steal smiles from those who had too many to offer, so that, on Christmas Eve, he could spread joy equally to the gloomy ones. He hid them all in a burlap sack which he carried on his shoulder. Today, he slipped on the ice and dropped the sack. The smiles scattered all through the snow and clung on to him. The old man laughed himself to death.
Yuka Brevi
I couldn't take anything. I have left all my belongings behind. I know you understand me, it happened to you, too. I left the ragged, scuffed shoes with their laces worn thin with use that I used to wear when I was one year old. They were of no value to anyone. Only to me did they mean something. They were the bond I had with my mother, with the beautiful days of old. The same with my little apron, the tiny wreath, the wedding ring, a horseshoe-shaped amulet, two small stones and a photo torn at one end. This is what a sack of bones complained about to another.
Nicolae Popescu
I've got in through the back door and I'm watching him. Groaning, Santa is doing his exercises, as recommended by the physiotherapist. With every move, he gives off a sigh that breaks my heart. You can tell his hips are killing him. An elf is preparing his medicine, another is assembling the massage table. I'm taking a few steps towards him, I don't want to ruin his routine. I think he saw me and now he's looking at me frowning his bushy brows. He goes straight to the point: look, pal, don't give me anything to carry, I can't do it any more. Fine: Send everyone on Real Fiction a hug and good wishes.
(Translated by Mara Scoroșanu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.