I was watching him get out of the bed. Last time when he took up the courage to walk, his knee cracked. Don't worry, mom, I can do it, look, I really can. He looked at me proud with those crystal-clear eyes. He held on to the armchair and took a step. Two. Three. He made it to the window. He looked at the blue sky through the curtain. Let's tell dad to buy a kite, I'd like to make it fly, he barely whispered. I gazed at his back, I was one step behind him, ready for anything. And I let the paper slip from my hand: Vlad, ten years old, brittle bone disease.
Neti Niculae
Although he was born a boy, he would sometimes play with dolls, for my sake. With the plastic ones, because I kept those made of porcelain safely in boxes. His favourite was the one with blonde ringlets and milky white skin. One day, you'll have your own doll, a real one, I used to tell him from the carpet long ago, in a dimension that seemed from another life. Today, he smiles at me from the nightstand and reminds me that I am the sister who forgets to call him. He is far away, settled down, with a beautiful blonde. But he sleeps in my heart every night.
Mona Zelenco
On a gloomy day which clouded my serenity, and thoughts flew beyond the rainbow in search of the sun, I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I let myself sink into the bed of depression and I took the pill of ignorance. The pain got worse. Extreme measures were required. I opened my soul, turned it inside out and a few shards fell out. I ran to the drawer with memories in it and I turned to my two patches, forgiveness and forgetfulness. I know that although it is bandaged and frail, it will become stronger in time, but it won't lose its innocence.
(Translated by Irina Vild / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.