Gabriel Rusu
Andrei stared in astonishment at Mr. Lăzărescu's lifeless body. He realized quite quickly that the shiny shoes and bowtie had something to do with the crowd gathered around the coffin, it must have been a special day, but the pennies placed on the deceased's eyes aroused his curiosity. No matter how hard he searched for an explanation, his little five-year-old brain had absolutely no idea. Grandpa, why are his eyes covered? Grandson, even in death, you still have a payment to make. Why do you think you have to pass the trials of the saints before you can reach God?
Octavia Buhociu
Miss, may I have this dance? I just finished dancing with Mitică, he stepped on my new shoes and he smelled of a mix of sweat and plum brandy. Please, let's try something different, come closer to me, have a little courage, put your head on my shoulder, we both close our eyes, I'll lead you, let yourself melt in my arms - you smell so nice - the whole night is ours on this slow beat which is played on the speakers, with you it's wonderful. I wish time would stand still like this for the rest of my life. This can be done: I'm Peter, the doorman of the Paradise bar.
Teodora Ștefănescu
When she passed away, he had a breakdown. A mental one first. Then he fell prey to the gift of drunkenness. That's quite a gift. Makes you want to keep falling prey to it. After a night of kissing strangers and coming back with his pants' zipper askew from around the pub's corner, he confessed: Death should have taken me, not her. And seeing such great pain, the priest absolved him of his sins and gave him a spoonful of the blood of the Lord, pure Ottonel, because the priest also liked to drink. But in the evening, after fumbling to find the right key, to put it in the lock, to throw the boots off his feet, when lying in bed, he experienced heaven on earth.
(Translated by Oana-Elena Dragnea / 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 February 2025, the group has 13,650 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.
