George Dometi
I was boiling pearl barley. Her great love. The guy from the funeral home recognized me. It was the second parent in three years. She hadn't spoken for a week anyway. The tubes had been in place. Before she left, she told me to kiss her. By the way, the dog gave birth that night. Must be why the bitch kept barking at me. Her great love. The biggest problem is alcohol. There isn't any left. Her great love. I'm going now to say goodbye. The alley is empty. No one came. She's in an urn in a long wall. My great love.
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
The waters called for him his whole life. In forgotten corners of the world, he collected shells etched with impossible carvings, relics of an unseen civilization, whispers understood only by the waves. For years, he believed he was chasing the truth. But now, old and weary, gazing at the ocean, he knows: it wasn't truth that drove him, but a hunger for magic. He ran away from monotony, from lifeless days. And now, at the edge of it all, he sees that they were always there. Not beneath the sea, but in his own act of dreaming. Maybe magic is always there.
Carmen-Ecaterina Ciobâcă
The sea began to boil, sending spasmodic waves skyward. That's when unknown prophets took to the streets, screaming the end was near. Some hid in the cracks of the earth. Others threw parties with women, singing and drinking. Some clutched their children to their chest in agonizing wait. A few ran to say the I love you they'd delayed too long. One thought echoed in every mind: not tonight. A cosmic screech silenced them all, covering the land in lunar dust.
(Translated by Oana-Elena Dragnea / 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.