Toni Mirică
He had gathered all the banana slices from the plate into one fist and squeezed them until they oozed between his fingers. He opened his palm and looked at it-it was full of sticky banana. He shook his hand until bits of banana flew onto the wall. He looked around with wide eyes, found the curtain. Grabbed it and wiped his palm on it, then wiped the wall. With clean hands, he took a bit of peanut butter from the spoon with his little finger and drew a tiny heart on the wall, next to the banana smudges. Look, mommy, he said with a big smile, mălțișol[1]. Fol you.
[1]Mărțișor ("mălțișol" - pronounced in child language) - 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.
He only drinks water, mint tea, St. John's wort tea, milk rarely, coffee even more rarely. He hasn't smoked in ages. He doesn't go out with friends to bars or clubs, even though he loves music. He eats only three meals a day, mostly fasting meals. He reads newspapers, magazines, books from the library. He works every day in the auto repair shop. He washes his socks himself. He showers in slightly cold water. On Sundays, he goes to church. So when do we get to meet him? We're really curious. Don't rush-it'll take a while. He's still doing time.
Răzvan Dițescu
He clutched the revolver tightly, his gaze lost in the photo where she was smiling at him. He remembered how she smelled of lavender, how she laughed, how she danced barefoot in the kitchen, how she would rest her head on his chest and whisper: No matter what happens, promise me you'll be happy. But how could he be happy now, when the bed was cold, when her voice was just an echo? The room felt too big, too empty-just like his soul. He slowly pulled the trigger, but was stopped by a faint whimper slipping through the half-open door.
(Translated by Ioana Levîrdă / 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.
