Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Doina RuSti

fingers, white and delicate, were throbbing as if theyhad been strumming a guitar for hours on end, and under his eyelids, through his opaque skin, a distressed anthill was moving. To her, the sleeping man was only the interlocutor of this most complicated and dangerous apparatus. Alisa’s ears perked up instinctively. The market stirred slowly, and the blood of hundreds of seduced women let out a unified sigh. Bewildered, she took a step, that last step, which no woman had dared to make, and when the treacherous April breeze passed by her ears, Alisa thrust her teeth into the pouting lips of Eugen the monk.

At first, the vast army went numb like tongue burnt by fire, and then, in cutting silence, one after another, the bodies of his unbeaten soldiers fell. And, grieving for the darkness left over him, Eugen finally raised his eyelids. Alisa was watching with a single eye, unflinching and severe. The market fell silent, and of the formerly fervent army, not a trace remained. The disturbance of Alisa’s teeth, or her unwavering stare, was not as great as the pain of his inner peace. The great, thirsty tongue became a dry leaf, and he grew very weak. All his desire melted, all its hubris, and sticky birds flew from 200 hearts. The women breathed the

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