I cradled my head in my hands, raising my carefully penciled eyebrows, convinced I was her spitting image. I wanted a cigarette holder to wave through the air with an enigmatic gaze, but all I had was a pen spinning above my math exam. And all I knew was theater, not numbers. During the break, my classmates exchanged thoughts on their results. What did you get? they asked. I lazily flicked my imaginary cigarette, gave them an icy stare, and declared, like the diva I was: I just want to be left alone.
Cecilia Fofiu
At Grandma's insistence - so the world could see what a wonder of a granddaughter she had - I accompanied her to church on Palm Sunday. Mildly bored, I shifted from one foot to the other, enough for Grandma to nudge me a few times. We left, carrying bits of holy bread wrapped in napkins, walking down the village road dotted with groups of churchgoers, chatting away. From a cluster of boys - where I caught a glimpse of Nicu out of the corner of my eye - came an appreciative whistle. Delighted, I lifted my chin, smirking with pride, and set my steps to a regal pace. Three steps. On the fourth, I walk straight into a cow dung.
Gabriel Moldovan
I lean against the counter, wishing I were anyone else. This day just won't end. The bartender - a goblin from Yester - fills a mug with a greenish liquid. Try this, he says, offering a faint smile. I take a sip. The taste explodes - sweet herbs, bitterness, something beyond words. A gentle warmth floods through me. In the mirror behind the bar, I see my reflection - but I am not me. A different face, different eyes, a different body. It's strange, but... I feel like a whole new person, I whisper. The goblin chuckles. That's how it works. But you should know - it's not reversible.
(Translated by Alexandra-Ecaterina Sandu / 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.