Gigi pours himself another vodka. He sits with his hand on the glass, stares into the void and talks. The truth, he says, is easy to be seen. We, men, are like Christianity. Fights, ceremonies, exaltations, crusades, maledictions, excommunications - in the name of faith, or in the name of love. For the gods or hearts. For all of them, the journey through life has begun with the exile from heaven. After that, we struggle all our lives to get back. We all seek to go back the way we came out. Sweet is our gate to Heaven.
Gheorghiță Mircea
After three days of severe drunkenness, he arrived at the gate of heaven. Again? And here you come again, choked to death on your own vomit.Yes, Father, and it's sour from this year's wine, it hasn't cleared up, I'm ashamed of the state I'm coming in. That's who I am, a failure of a poet. I'm doing my self-criticism, I'm an asshole. Come on and open up, please. I can't, the lock's broken. Again? You didn't call someone to fix it? I did, someone went down to hell to get a locksmith. Downstairs? Well, I knew that the working class was going to paradise. That's the movie, heaven is for poets.
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
I stand before Heaven's gate, but I feel nothing. No fear, no desire. Only the silence. I remember my last moment. I entered the church, footsteps echoing on the cold floor. I prayed. I closed my eyes. Then the explosion. The walls blew, and me with them. I'm here now, but I don't feel like asking questions. I don't want answers. The judgment? It doesn't even seem to concern me. I'm just a wisp scattered in the light, like the smoke rising from the ruins. And for a moment, I swear I can hear the echo of my prayer suddenly coming to an end.
(Translated by Ana Maria Mitruș / 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.