Dan Banu
Awoo, he howled. Awoo, echoed back. His house was an empty shell. Like his life. Like his body. He never knew how to hold on to anyone or anything. His relationships flared like match flames: a groan of bodies, a burst of fire, complete combustion to ash, then darkness. And dust. A dog knocked over a trash bin, sniffing through the garbage. A car honked. Awoo, he howled again. The echo was tired. It didn't answer. Scattered across the world, burned-out match tips. Somewhere, a child whimpered.
Caterina Tudorache
Look at those eyes. They're gorgeous. She's hot. Wait, there's a birthmark on her neck. And she seemed perfect. Check this one out: fat and badly dressed. Who'd want to undress that? Bet it's the first time a man's touched her. She might be a virgin. I'll give it a shot, laughed the other. That one looks like a music teacher. She's sloppy and she has white hair. She reminds me of Madam Mimi, the French teacher. Poor thing died. And these women, what, they're alive? The two men slammed the drawers shut. Come on, the new batch of burned ones just came in. That'll be fun. You take the kids.
Paul Dârvariu
What flaw could I have that would keep people from falling for me? I'm handsome, I have great hair, a stellar personality, and off-the-charts intelligence. I'm a genius, really. Okay, maybe I say weird things sometimes, but let's be honest, who doesn't mess up now and then? I'm surrounded by amazing people who, let's face it, are in love with me, not my ideas. I deserve their love, not because I'm perfect (even though I am), but because I love them too. You know what? If you don't love me, you're the problem; you're just a bitter little hater jealous of my success.
(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.