At the Market

Răzvan Drăgoi
They call me M'bongo, the king of the arms market in Congo. Need a Kalashnikov rifle? I've got you. Anti-personnel mines? Done. Soldiers? I've got some kids perfect for that job, they're all under 10, but they have a brilliant aim. Women? Come on, you know I am your man for that. But I'm tired. Life doesn't excite me anymore. I can do everything. Anything. I have it all. Everything. I know all there is to know. I would've liked to be a spiritual leader, but even I don't believe myself when I pray. What I need is a soul. But no one wants to sell one to me. Or perhaps, everyone does.
 
 Dan Banu
He gave up meat six years ago and had been telling everyone how energetic he felt. He'd bought a kilo of mushrooms from the market, claiming they were foraged from the forest, rich in nutrients. He'd set his mind on baking them; stems finely chopped, mixed with onions, wrapped in a thin slice of cheese. They found him foaming at the mouth, the oven door still open.
Only one mushroom was missing, and he had a satisfied grin on his face, lips curled. He even licked his fingers, that added the poison, muttered the forensics expert.
 
 George Dometi
Faces, we have thousands of them. Smiling, ironic, satisfied, aroused, joyful and healthy ones. Who still believes in negativity, apathy or mutism, nowadays? No one. Come on, try it. If you touch it, you buy it. I am selling the illusion that everything is fine just the way things are. Morgan le Fay lives within each of us, but who has the courage to give a toss about the hopeful idea that we are alive? People will never change. They're the biggest salesmen. They only think of themselves. You hear I love you, but what's really being auctioned off is your own longing to be loved. Isn't it?

 
(Translated by Adina-Lorena Dulamă / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)