Come on, get away from me. Of course I know what I am letting myself in. That's why I'm a man. How can I resist the lure of a warm, dark, wet, sweet place? I want to see the guy who doesn't admit he's a spelunker in his spare time. I went in confident, belatedly realizing the danger. My soul managed to see how my ultimate sacrifice made me land in prime-time news. All news tickers announced that, due to unforeseen jam slide, the mountain of pancakes prepared for the Guinness Book collapsed on a visitor of the inside cave. I died happy.
Cristina Daniela Dumitru-Pascal
I met her on the subway. She got on before me. She sat quietly in her seat, with a book in her hand, like a schoolgirl in a school chair. She wore fluffy socks. I would have liked us to walk or dance together or for her to sit next to me and let me stroke her fine ankles. I was in love with her feet. When I dared to look up, her smiling eyes surprised me. They were smiling ironically, but still smiling. She bent down, pulled up her trousers and adjusted her stockings over her peg leg. She stepped down. With difficulty I took advantage of that and at the bridal dance I held her in my arms.
Răzvan Drăgoi
To be honest, I write therapeutically. Neither with meaning, nor with substance, nor with humour, it`s just footwork, like one does in boxing. Any text contains something of box, if it doesn't punch you in some way, emotionally, spiritually or mentally, it`s just literary fluff. Sometimes I feel I'm almost good, but this happens less and less. Other times, that I should quit because I feel less. It doesn't really matter. Thoughts try to punch my senses in the face. My writing is as lyrically sad as a frivolous old woman.
(Translated by Florina Georgiana Țîncu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by prof. dr. Nadina Vișan / Edited by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.