Glass

Writing an oral history of a ten-year-old child may seem like a perfectly absurd enterprise any day of the week. The social experience of an individual of ten would not recommend an approach of this kind. With such a person it cannot be a matter of immediate memory. Hence

Ever since I had known him (and there are many, many years since then, almost four), Georgica is profoundly dissatisfied with the fact he doesn't have a moustache, like every man, and isn't allowed yet to manage by himself. Why, Georgica wonders, why do you have

excerpts CHAPTER I How had the members of the Cherry Blossom Club gotten to the town of D. ? That was not a difficult one to answer. First, the little town was not very far from its twin, where the members of the Cherry Blossom Club lived. Then, as it often happens, one

excerpt  Then on another day I didnt get up to much apart from loafing around the house aimlessly and especially up in the apricot tree where dad didnt know I could climb and get away with it because what does he know? He comes home in the evening and if he plays with

Winters in Ramnicu Valcea were quite mild in those times, though there was plenty of snow (I guess this is the cliché of those whose childhood memories are blurred by their excessive subjectivity); anyway, they unfolded following a certain ritual: at the beginning of December

excerpt  II Ever since the day I came back here, to our old little borough, I have hardly had one idle moment. I scoured all the familiar haunts that still brought to mind the childhood memories – the bright memories of a long gone childhood. I saw, on the banks of

excerpt AAAGH, WHAT A NIGHTMARE! I jumped up and forgot it was Sunday. I was just about to get dressed and go to school, to find out if Hari had come to any harm; I was like one of those old biddies who dream I don't know what, a black pond or something, and then think

A story, no matter how good or bad it may be, is in the end no more than a joining of words. That's something we know. But where do the story-tellers take out their words that they put together and make stories with (good or bad)? That's what we don't know.

It has been five years since a wolf lodged in the quiet building of the Natural Science Museum of our school. And because it was too big to fit on the shelves of the glass cases among the owls and hares, it was placed on a small table in the middle of the museum. It was

excerpt XVI. THE END The blizzard howled, tumbling boulders of petty snow, gasping when hitting icy walls and cliffs or moaning and screaming along the white nowhere. You couldn't tell the sky from the earth or the ice from the water. Nature was unleashed and that

Sandy, listen to your mammy! One spring, a very tired quail – tired since she was coming from far, far away, from Africa – alighted on a plain of green wheat, close to a stand of saplings. After she rested for a few days, she started to gather twigs, dried leaves, straws

excerpt  3. THE INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES OF STING AND STUNG Sting and Stung came into being in a jar of mustard, on the very first morning after I'd dreamt of serpentine road bends and devils. Had it been necessary to invent a realm for them to come forth from – a