The White Hell

Bogdan Sebastian Burjan
She wanted to run as far away as possible. Without ever looking back. And the horizon was a white abyss. Heavy snowflakes pressed harder and harder on her lashes. Needle-sharp tips pierced deep into her skin. Into her soul. In her memories. That were still burning. A frozen whirlwind coiled tighter and tighter around her. And she couldn't breathe. Her steps were heavier. Her knees gave in. Only a whispering voice could still be heard. Lie down. Stretch out. Rest. Close your eyes. With a white cloak, it wrapped around her completely. Now, you don't have to run anymore. Not anywhere.
 
 Alexandra Buhudini
Her soles had wept in godforsaken places, among skilled healers, wart-covered witches, devilish shamans, wise doctors and spirit-filled priests. All in vain. Now, she had built a kind of altar in a cave in the Retezat Mountains. There, in a monstrance, she kept the seed of his bareness, with which she anointed her maidenly face while chanting liturgies, moaning like a doe robbed of her fawn, cursing, flinging prayer beads and crosses at the icons that had veiled their eyes. His lineage would never know the baptism of the Jordan. A devilish laugh gave birth to a monastic thought.
 
 George Dometi
Now I'm going to give you an injection. Please count to twenty, the doctor ordered. The man, chained to the bed, stopped at three. How strange, I usually fall asleep at ten, never this fast. But I didn't fall asleep, I just don't know to count higher. Mr. Doctor, I forgot to tell you that this one's one of the new arrivals. Aha, that explains the stench. Well, he's out. Hand me the scalpel. While I take out his kidney, go and bring the cooler. And prepare the next one. Another number crossed off. The snow covers the barbed wire.

 
(Translated by Maria-Ilinca Darie / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)