The White Hell

Alex Micu
The phones have started ringing. The national RoAlert system. Three millimeters. Power's out, the city's completely gridlocked, authorities were caught off guard. No one expected heavy snow at the 45th parallel in February. Huge sleet drifts have exceeded two millimeters since last night. Another millimeter settled overnight. If another micron of dust settles, the President will declare a state of emergency. I'm going outside with my cell phone. Maybe somebody's snowed in. I sneeze. I cleared a street and two alleys.
 
 Cristian Palade
The country was struggling in poverty, but he was living in a corner of heaven. His parents were renowned surgeons. Luxuries and education were provided, a rare privilege in those days. His professional future was written on his forehead from the very beginning: he would be a doctor when he grew up. His friends were chosen by his own family. No one had ever asked him what he wanted; yeah, details. At his senior prom, he snorted some white powder for the first time. The road from heaven to hell was blazingly short.
 
 Gabriel Moldovan
It's pressing down, blocking my breath. I try to move, but I'm trapped. It's not the first avalanche. I know the drill: take shallow breaths, conserve oxygen, look for the right direction. Then I hear the whisper: You're the last one to die out here. I'm freezing. Hallucination? Do you want to live? Think of the warmth. I'm imagining the fire at the cabin. The snow looks softening. That's very good. Now let me in. I see. The darkness isn't just around. It's in me. I don't feel the cold anymore. Just the whispering. And a huge emptiness pulling me down.

 
(Translated by Andreea Cristina Moise / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)