No, Letiția, no. Someone was calling your name. It wasn't my train, the doors were closing, but I ran looking for your face. I was told not to get attached, not to look for you, to honour my vow. Sometimes months go by without remembering you, sorrow still blesses me thus. Months lived on Sundays, I hide in my hideous little town, the church full of old women, how sad and beautiful the new priest is. Forehead to the cold window, in the accelerated train, no, Letiția, no, someone shouted again and I hit the alarm. No, stop, open the doors.
David Brescan
I'm saying the Lord's Prayer while my mates are busy writing. I don't know all of them, I don't do much attendance, I don't like school, I only know how to write and read, I can count money. Yes, the old man promised me that if I fail this exam, I won't see a penny. God help me, if I pass, I go straight to church. There's a loud screeching noise and a thick rain pours down from the ceiling onto me and the blank sheet in front of me. Someone has pulled the fire alarm. I run outside and into the park with the boys. I'll go to church another time.
Daniela G. Pătrașcu
Shivering in the dark, he reached a door, pressed the knob, but the door was locked. He looked under the mat for a key. He couldn't stay there after crawling all that way on his knees. He had to keep going. The darkness and cold in that room couldn't hold him. He felt that beyond that door he would find happiness. He could smell the flowers behind the door. He thought for a moment to knock, to listen. He was looking for the doorbell when the door suddenly opened and his wife asked: Need the loo, drunkard? Are you puking again?
(Translated by Teodora Anghelachi / 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.