1987. Please report to our office in Brașov, 12 Vlad Țepeș Street, 1st floor, room 27, on November 20th, at 8:00 a.m. This is what it says on this piece of paper typed on a typewriter. The letterhead is barely visible. They put in a new ribbon and a lot of ink leaked. I ask my colleagues. They look at me and stay silent. They shrug and seem to avoid looking me in the eye. It's fine, I'll take a taxi to see where the address is. 12 Vlad Țepeș Street, I tell the driver. He grits his teeth and curses under his breath. Damn you, snitch.
Viorel Spinu
The drawer in the corner had been stuck for a long time. I never had the time to deal with it. Today, I simply felt like opening it. Today, I had time. Inside, there was an envelope, yellowed with age. I opened it slowly. Inside was a blank sheet of paper. Nothing written on it. I smiled. I held the paper in my hands for a few seconds, then I left it on the table. I stood up, grabbed my coat, and left the house. The phone was left on the table. I felt like going for a walk. The weather was nice outside. And there were magnolias. And I was fine.
Yuka Brevi
Although I am a pilot, I am terrified of flying, and every time I have to go to work, I feel like I'm going to die. I say goodbye to my dog, give him a double portion of kibble and carrot. I look around hopelessly, searching for something, anything, that might sound like a divine message, something to protect me when I am, without any help, up there, among the clouds. Today, I saw an old woman smiling at me from a wheelchair. She had a bag full in her lap, with Avocado to my list written on it. I felt calm. Avocado brings me luck.
(Translated by Claudia Garofina Greculeac / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by prof. dr. Nadina Vișan, coordinator of the translations / Edited by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.