After the bombing, those of us who survived, we searched for holes in the fields to dump the remains. Old Stere, where should I shove your filthy body? He has nothing to say, of course, because he bit his tongue out of fear, while still alive. Nor the others have all the parts of their body. Seems to me I feel an extra wing flapping from my dislocated shoulder blade. What am I to do with a wing when I've still got unfinished business here on earth? It is only when there's no one left to carry that I'll nest in a hole. Look, I can see the sky from Stere's. And? He doesn't even care anymore.
Andra Toropoc
He had made a shelter among the rubbish, dug deep corridors sheltered by the stinking undergrowth where he was not disturbed by other people. Only the rats crept into his burrow, but they didn't frighten him, he would simply watch them and tell himself that he wasn't really alone. Because some of them had bushy tails, he named them Mariane, after squirrels in the town where he once grew up. When the big fire broke out, he was asleep and couldn't get out in time, and the next day his remains were found mixed with an ocean of ashes.
Aurelian Țolescu
In December '89, when all things were turned upside down, a group of soldiers from the 5th Division were told to dig their own pits and then stand upright next to them until a bullet would throw them straight into the ground. At one point a superior officer came panting up and called off the execution order. Let these live, we need the pits. A criminal order and miscommunication led to the shooting of a platoon of students at the Military Academy. Let's pin it on these guys.
(Translated by Andreea Georgiana Bogdan / 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.