Every night, I dream the same thing: I take the gun from my desk drawer and shoot myself in the temple. I die and transform into my grandfather, a drowned neighbour, some friends, financial rivals. The doctors try to convince me that I'm tired of this life. Nonsense: I'm rich, I have more than I need, wife, children, grandchildren, a mistress. It has become exhausting to split myself across so many conversations. But I love heights, and, what joy, last night, I floated above America, while it's still possible.
Paul Dârvariu
Who would have thought that in a past life, I was a boring accountant? Now, my days are a true adventure. I soar through the clouds, feast on little worms, and poop wherever my tail pleases. I only have one problem: I no longer know how to fill out income statements. And believe me, a bird needs a good accountant for all its earnings and expenses. Oh, and one more thing, I can't talk. I just chirp. Luckily, I've discovered that I can write microtexts. Which is why I wrote the lines above.
Andra Toropoc
I'm waiting for you. I know you'll be out to capture the sunrise, just like always. You step onto the same balcony and point your lens at the orange glow. I know you hold your breath; we've witnessed the sun's burst together so many times. But now, I pass before it. You see me gliding toward you, you take pictures, and you smile to the right, where I used to sit, savoring the Moment. And I still do. Don't be sad. That light has brought me back to our place. And more than a wave at sea, I have wings to caress you and a cry to lift my love for you into the sky.
(Translated by Claudia Garofina Greculeac / 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.