Dusan Mitana

Signs   (an excerpt)   On August 29th, 1646, 120 years after the Battle of Mohács, peasant Juraj Mitana was born, and on the same...
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Richard Pupala

There was a time, long, long ago now, when Michal used to be scared of him. Once he was startled awake in the middle of a hot summer’s night, to find his little brother sitting on his bed, motionless, a dark silhouette.

Daniel Majling

It is a place where customs officers frequently come across lorries that carry cheap, Chinese-made copies of branded clothes (adidad, nikhe) but this time instead of fake clothes or perfumes the lorries contained books. Dostojevzski, Tolsztoi, Toorgenef – cheap imitations of lasting literary value for those who can’t afford to read real Russian classics because these are too demanding.

Pavel Vilikovsky

It is one of the little tricks we humans play: whenever something is beyond us, we invent a name for it, at the very least, or borrow one from some ancient language, and we feel more secure straight away.

Pavol Rankov

I’m not convinced of anything. I don’t trust my memory, which tells me that the entire village gathered in front of the house that night. They had come to do something bad. I can still see the whole thing. A tribal ritual.

Balla

The writer bought a literary magazine, leafed through it, and was gratified: he hadn’t submitted anything and none of his work had been published.

Ondrej Stefanik

I’m on display here, you fool. I’m wearing my best dress, simple, posh, fresh like fresh fruit, flammable, cling-wrapped to protect it from vagrants, cool like a crouching leopard with taut muscles. And the first words you shoot at me are Hi, Paula, feeling better now?

Dusan Mitana

In that steam bath, where everyone was soaked to the skin, our completely dry hands touched. My mouth had also dried up from excitement, and I was sure hers had too.

Ondrej Stefanik

“I’m serious, man. Please. I need arms,” the snowman interrupts us. “Where am I supposed to get you arms?” I’m getting irritated. I’m starting to get really cold. “How about the morgue,” the snowman suggests. “Are you crazy?” “I don’t have much time left. I’ll melt soon. Couldn’t you do this for me? Run to the morgue and get me some arms. Dead people don’t need arms.

Vito Staviarsky

He invited Sabina to dance, reached out and pulled her up. Karolko sat in the wardrobe playing Romany dance tunes but Olda asked for Roll Out the Barrel and later the Firemen’s Song. They danced on the table making the cats run for cover under the wardrobe, meowing mournfully.

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