Monica Bologa
He showed up at my door with a red-and-white cord. He said he'd come to proclaim spring's arrival, to banish the cold from my home and the frost from within me. We went to the bedroom, I laid down on sheets scented with wildflowers, and he wove my thoughts into red and white. I awoke with all the seasons beneath my skin: blossoms, snowdrops, sunlit beaches, rustling autumn leaves, icy stars. As he was about to leave, I asked, "But where's my mărțișor[1]?" He said he'd bring it to me in the fifth season.
[1]"mărțișor" is a small token with a red-and-white string given on March 1st in Romania to celebrate spring, often a pin or trinket
Ianis, you have seventeen mărțișoare in your backpack, give them to your classmates as soon as you walk in. The card for your teacher should stay in the front pocket so it doesn't bend. The tulip bouquet for her too. Give it at the start of class, but don't rush with the others. Let her see which one is from you. In the middle you have three boxes of chocolates. Offer them to your classmates after they sing you Happy Birthday. Ianis walked straight to the teachers' lounge and asked for permission to leave. He doesn't like that his birthday is on the girls' day.
Iunia Augustin
Girls, you remember how we'd wait, breath caught, butterflies coiled inside us, minds buzzing, for the most desired mărțișor. From Him. The class dream. Our own Tom Cruise from Mission: Impossible, or Colin Firth from Pride and Prejudice. And He would, almost alway, choose just one. And if, by mistake, he offered a second, Star Wars would begin. First, they exchanged poisoned glances from the depths of their dazzling eyes. Then, from beneath crinolines, came discreet jabs from pointed boots.
(Translated by Maria Loredana Constantin / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.