16.03.2026

Arthur Ianoși
I was tightly bound to a chair, my head caught in a device that wouldn't allow me to move it in any direction; the only thing I could do was rotate my eyes just enough to see this grotesque spectacle. In front of me, mounted on the wall, an LCD screen was playing a clip of a couple-she was very cheerful, he was drained of life- holding hands, seeming to walk towards me, with two huge speakers framing the screen. I tried to close my eyes, but my eyelids were stuck to my brows. When the song You Are My Spring started, in a looping sequence, I knew that this was the end for me.

 Ana-Maria Butuza
 "Lucky mărțisoare[1] in colors bright, worn to keep bad luck from sight. Here, sir, take some snowdrops too-no cash for earrings? These will do!" That's how Old Toni, the neighbour from upstairs, sells his goods. If you hesitate, he shouts after you, and to get rid of him, you buy. Today I ended up with a chimney-sweep. As soon as he saw me, he started with his poem. I tried to ellude him, but he followed me: "Come get some mărțișoare, today they're cheap \'cause it's damn cold. Take the chimney-sweep or horseshoe, if you don't want your pipes to burst." What pipes, man? The ones in the bathroom, they broke last night, and if you don't buy, I don't have the money to fix them.


[1]Small ornamental object tied with a braided thread - red and white - which is given as a gift, as a sign of the arrival of spring, to women on March 1st.


 Alex Micu
To blame for everything that happened is an old man. He had forgotten his bag on a bench. From the bag, a whitish smoke started to rise. People panicked. They called 911. The police called the bomb disposal experts. They evacuated the park and the surrounding buildings. Traffic was closed off. Chaos. The bomb squad took the bag and placed it in an armoured container. The next day, I found out that it had been a few hot, steamy stuffed cabbage rolls. The old man had received them from the employees of a restaurant because he was kind to them and gave them mărțișoare.


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


Real Fiction is a collective project started in 2013 by Florin Piersic Jr. The concept of Real Fiction continued to exist as a Facebook group, after a volume of stories was published at Humanitas Publishing House. (In April 2025, the group has 13,740 members.) The authors write ultra-short stories, with the texts limited to 500 characters (in Romanian, so the length of the English translation might be a little different) - a flash-fiction exercise on a topic that changes every few days. The group's coordinators are Florin Piersic Jr., Gabriel Molnar, Răzvan Penescu, Luchian Abel, Monica Aldea, and Vlad Mușat. (Drawing by Adrian T. Roman)

Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.

0 comentarii

Publicitate

Sus