Picturesque

Ioana Bostan
He set up the tripod on a hillside of lush green wheat. He was hunting the sunrise, the poppies unfurling their crinkled skirts, and the winding paths weaving through the cypresses. He took some test shots and checked the time. A rustling of wings croaked and darted toward the sky. He lunged for the lens, finger poised to shoot. Overlapping wings, a feather spinning down in the morning's soft currents. He pressed the shutter again just as a cry rang out, dissolving into the sun that flared in bursts on the screen. He zoomed in. Two pairs of legs, flinging their underwear into the air.

Cristian Palade
I've been at my desk for hours, nose glued to the screen. I lean back for a moment and stumble upon the kid I used to be. It's winter. The river is frozen solid. I round up three chums, and we head out for a game of hockey. Alder wood sticks, a puck carved from ice - the match begins. Every now and then, we take a break for a snowball fight. We argue over the score and the rules, pushing and shoving each other. Our cheeks are red, we're laughing, half-frozen. We can hear shouts. My grandmother, twirling a stick in her right hand, calls me home. I open my eyes. Back at my desk again.

Anca Chimoiu
A woman dances alone, like an anachronistic bacchante. She doesn't read the news, hasn't heard that the Bacchanalia were banned by the Senate in 186 BC. Nor does she care whether Bacchus is the god Nietzsche declared dead or just one deity among many. She doesn't drape herself in animal hides - no need to stir trouble with the environmentalists. She wears a pair of worn-out jeans and a blouse, yet she conjures orgies in the minds of goblet-worshippers. Oh, you, wise observer - if your thoughts find their reflection in her small act of anarchy, stand tall and stray not.


(Translated by Marian-Cătălin Niculăescu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / 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.