24.12.2025
Vero Anttheia Teodoru
Miss Riviere would run behind the castle to watch the bird nesting in the black locust by the fence. If only she could do the same and leave whenever she wanted, go wherever she pleased. The lady of the house kept her on a tight leash, and that had exhausted her terribly. There, she could daydream freely with her eyes open and sometimes she'd fall asleep in the grass, wandering through unknown worlds. Sofie finally convinced her mother to buy her a golden-yellow parakeet from the pet shop. A few days later, she got bored, opened the cage door, and shooed it out the window.

Marius Stan
The ceiling is white, immaculate. The noises have faded, the voices of the doctors have gone silent, the relatives' tears still trickle down the hallway leading to the inner courtyard. A deep sleep envelops me in a thick, plush robe, warm and comforting. It's a bright place, a place of greenery, where there is no pain, no sorrow, no sighs. Then less and less, until nothing. And then nothing again. After that, nothing. In the municipal park, the maple trees catch fire. I see thousands of breadcrumbs waiting by a bench. The branch rehearses its farewell  

Arthur Ianoși
Alecu, my man, maybe you've wondered how I became the man I am today - strong, proud, imposing. No, Costeluș brotha', I really haven't. Well, I'll tell you. When I was a kid, I had this huge rooster, Gelu. Looked like a pitbull. I walked him down the street on a leash and while it was wearing a muzzle, strutted like he was in a parade. Every brat in town was terrified of him. He was allergic to fools. When he died, I laid him on a bed of herbs, myrrh, and incense. I set him on fire, like in the legends. So what? From that day on, I used his ashes as a tea sweetener. You're really starting to annoy me, Alecu.

(Translated by Constantin Grigorescu / 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 March 2025, the group has 13,700 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.

0 comentarii

Publicitate

Sus