Cristian Nedelcu
Last night, a squad of German soldiers attacked us. I hit one of them in the stomach right as he was trying to climb over the barbed-wire fence. He only managed to get himself stuck for good while attempting to escape. I could hear him moaning, screaming, crying out for his mother. He went on screaming until morning. He was clinging onto life with desperation, the poor bastard. I had him in my line of fire, but I was ordered to let him struggle in agony. To hell with orders. I aimed and shot. It got quiet, finally quiet.
Mona Zelenco
How much racism, prejudice, poverty and war can one endure? How many hardships does it take for you to sink into the cesspool of life? More than you might think. Majid has been down a difficult road to get here. He, and thousands of others, made it to Europe and dreamed of a normal life; today, they do the work others refuse to do. With a smile on his face, he heads off to work. He stops at the public toilet downtown. As he works, he hums a song from his homeland. He's proud and happy. These past months he has managed to save up 300 euros to send home. And the longing.
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
There was no scent in the air. The sky was an illusion of dust and silence. Gravity could not be felt. The soles of your feet sank in red dust as if they were roots that would never take hold. At night, in fragile habitats, we were silent. No words could fill the distance between us and home. One of us started to talk to the rocks. Another one said that he only dreamt in black and white. Then, the first accident. The suit torn, the oxygen gone, the body inert. No one on earth mourned him. All looked towards the sky thinking that one day, their turn would come.
(Translated by Alina-Alexandra Șovar / 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.