We start symbolically, with an angel's wing. From the right shoulder, he said, pointing with his finger where, in thick lines, it should descend down the back, to the hip. On the left, a lot of blood, you understand me? The wing was torn off by a malevolent force, the dark side. Then, we move on to the classics. An anchor, with the tip buried here, under the boxer. Where it says Calvin, let the rope be torn by an apocalyptic storm. Navy, bro. On the other buttock, I have written simply, in Gothic letters, RIP. The message? The death of the old man and the birth of the true man. What do you think?
Bogdan Mihai Bati
I have spent five years working very hard. Who does overtime? I do. Who volunteers to work Saturday and Sunday? I do. I helped with attracting clients, then I found employees to do the work. I did not shy away from anything. Maria was tired of being married to my shadow at home. I quit. The boss listened to me, and then he told me he would like to promote me. If you go home with extra money, it will be good. I rushed to tell him. You might feel like a different person, she said, but I still see you as a fool.
Anca Chimoiu
I had no idea when I started writing. In general, I have no idea. I cast the line, I see what comes out. I sit on the lake shore and my thoughts align beautifully, one after the other. When the fish isn't biting, I get up, I glance at myself, I fix my hair. I don't peep at the neighbour, it makes no sense. What am I supposed to do with his fish? I did, however, catch a glimpse of how he was struggling, I even caught the moment when the fish pulled and he left with it. Why he didn't let it go, I can't understand for the life of me, but who am I to mess with his fish?
(Translated by Eduard Mihai Uretu / 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.