"Áron Antal" - Page 3

34 result(s) found.


Áron Antal

It was a bright July afternoon; the sun was burning through the window of my room. This was one of my chilliest summers yet, ’cause after school ended, I didn’t do anything, I just relaxed, hung out with my friends. I also got a job at my friend’s fast food restaurant, so I earned some money as well. I was looking at cars on the Internet, when my mother entered my room.

—Mike, good news—and she handed me an envelope.

I knew what it was; my driver’s licence. I hopped up with great joy from my chair, and ran out to the living room with a big smile on my face, which my dad noticed from the couch, and asked:

—What are you smiling at?

—I got my licence, so please, can I take your car for a spin?

—Congratulations! And yes, of course, have a good time!

I ran to the garage, hopped behind the steering wheel and started the engine. The old pick-up’s diesel engine revs up smoothly; I put it in gear and drove off. I thought that I would invite some of my friends and go driving with them.

—They are always at the park—I thought—so I’ll go there. And there they were.

—Mike, dude, hi,—they said.

—Hi guys.

—So you got your driver’s license, eh?—asked Bob.

—Yup!—I answered—and I would like you guys to be my first passengers.

—Cool,—they said.

—Where should we go?—asked Kenny.

—As you are with a pick-up, why don’t we go a little bit, ya know, off-road.

—Great idea. The roads are now dry in the countryside. Let’s go!

So we hopped in the car and drove to the countryside. We chatted and laughed on the journey, watched the endless wheatfields reaching the horizon, and the harvesting machines, which seemed like tiny ships in the endless ocean. It seemed so nice, no one was out there just us, it was so calm. But this state didn’t last forever, because when we stopped to admire the view and walk from the car a little, in my excitement I forgot to turn off the headlights, so when we headed back, the battery was dead.

—God damn it,—I said when i turned the key, and the starter motor just wauled at me, not turning the engine the slightest bit.

—So what now?—asked Bob.

—I don’t know.

So we sat down for a little, and drank some water, when we heard someone approaching us with great noise from the other side of the car. We stood up and saw an old, beaten-up tractor approaching, pulling a wagon. We waved at it, and it stopped next to us. He stopped the engine of that rolling piece of crap and stepped out of the cabin. The driver was a young boy, even younger than us, around 16, with short-cut brown hair, unshaven cheeks, bare feet, no clothes on but shorts. Then I looked at that junk: the spotlights were broken, the engine was dripping oil, a rotted seat, a dirty interior full of dust and seeds (because all of the windows and doors on the cabin were open). Also, the guy was sweaty, and a thin layer from the dust of the road covered his whole body.

—What is your problem?—he asked.

—Our car battery is dead. Could you charge us, just to start it?

—Yep, sure,—he said, and climbed back in the cabin for the charging cables.

He clipped one to the tractor’s battery, the other to the car’s. Then he sat back and started the tractor.The starter motor painfully rotated the big engine. At the moment it started, it vomited a great cloud of soot from the rotten exhaust.

I sat back in the car and turned its key. It started immediately. Then he stopped the tractor, and detached the wires from both of the vehicles.

Because of the heat, I was tired, and instead of thanking him, I asked him a question.

—By the way, are you crazy, or who drives this junk around half naked in this heat? Are you nuts?

He looked at me with a bit of disgust on his face, and asked:

—Do you know what work is?

—Yes, I know well. I am 19 years old and I work four hours a day in a fast-food restaurant.

—Do something for me, okay. Next time you eat, think of me.

Then he said nothing more, just sat back in the cabin, and drove off to the distance.

Then we drove back to town; I dropped off my friends and drove home. When I arrived, it was almost dark. I entered the house, but no one was at home; I just found a note. It read:

—Dear Mike,

Me and your father went to Steve’s house, they’re having a party and we just got invited at the last minute! Anyway, we come back tomorrow.



P.S. I made you some sandwiches, they are on the table.

I sat down ’cause I was very hungry, and my mind just clicked in. That sentence the kid had said was stuck in my head. And it was just now that I recognised when I was looking at the sandwich:

—I think I have a hard job, but actually I don’t; because that kid probably wakes up early in the morning and comes home at night, after driving that junk all day, in the heat, in the dust and for what, you ask? To transport the wheat from the fields to the silos, the wheat that is transported to the mill, then to the bakery, where they cook the bread that I can buy by just going to the store, take it off the shelves and walk home with it. And that bread, the wheat, the pasta, and all the baked goods are so easy to obtain, yet, some people have to work very hard under very harsh conditions to make it so easy for us citizens to get our food. They are not stupid farmers or jerks; they are the uncelebrated heroes of every nation, every country, that nobody thinks of.

A teardrop rolled down on my cheek when I was thinking about this, and how I behaved with that poor guy. If I could find a way to apologize to him and give him a blessing for what he is doing, day by day, I wish I could. But now my mind has changed; I will never look at food the way I did before, because now I know how much work is behind this bread I am holding in my hand, the bread that is wet from my tears.

Something Even Stranger: Variations on “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”

Áron Antal


Oh, my dear love Lysander,
I got on this way here so tired,
Where shall we rest, my dear?

Well my dear Hermia,
If you got tired,then
I must go to sleep as well,
‘Cause our heart and blood
Will be the same by next month.

Then here we’ll lie
Here next the river bank
Where you can rest
Your head on my breast.

Hermia, don’t you think
That we should remain innocent!
Till the day of the marriage
I can’t do such perv things.

Shall it be as you wish,
Then here, have this
Sleep on the moss
Instead of my bosom.

I got tired as you
So we shall sleep
To get the time passed
Until the marrie day.

They rest and fall asleep.

HELENA and DEMETRIUS arrive in the forest.

You can’t outrun me, my love.

You perv, leave me alone!

HELENA hides behind a tree.

You can run, but you can’t hide!


For my luck I can hide
So saving my own hide
From that jerk Demetrius.
I got so tired in the chase
That I must go to sleep here
Along this bank where
Demetrius can’t find me.

Falls asleep, not recognising that next to her lie LYSANDER and HERMIA.


I searched for hours now
But could not find no
Athenian woman lying
On the ground.

He falls over.

What is this, oh,
I found what I have
Searched for all night
That Athenian woman
Oberon told me about!
I shall do what I’m meant
And squeeze this flower’s nect—

Squeezes the flower into Helena’s eyes.

I did what I had to
But just look:
There is some flower left.
So what should I do with that?
I think the best
Is to throw it away, alas.

Throws the flower away, and it lands in HERMIA’S eyes.

DEMETRIUS enters, searching for HELENA, waking up both HELENA and HERMIA; both of them see him first.

Oh my dear love, stranger,
I don’t know a way to say
Something even stranger,
But I feel true love for you!

Who are…..

Oh dear Demetrius,
I’ve been a fool
To reject your love!

What dare you say about
My lover, my dear stranger?

My heart is meant for Hermia.
Leave me alone you strange
Woman, whom I just met.

HERMIA chases DEMETRIUS, followed by HELENA, who chases them both.

LYSANDER starts waking up.

Hermia my dear, what’s
That noise I just heard?
Hermia! Hermia!? Hermia?
Where have you gone,
She must have thought
From how I acted
That I don’t love her
And ran away, leaving me here,
For some animal to eat.
Where did you go, Hermia?

Exits, to search for HERMIA.

Issue 1:3 (Winter 2020–2021)

Welcome to the Winter 2020–2021 issue of Folyosó! This issue features our first international contest, a collection of scenes inspired by Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, stories about transformation and the future, and much more. Let it rain or snow; let the lion roar again; these pieces will warm you up. We welcome your readership and comments!

Letter from the Editor

First Folyosó International Contest: Inventions

Fiction and Quasi-Fiction


Scenes Based on A Midsummer Night’s Dream


About the Contributors

Submit to the Spring 2021 issue!

Cover art by Lilla Kassai.

Letter from the Editor

Folyosó began in the spring of 2020, when school in Hungary had gone online in response to COVID-19. This fall, we are back in the school building, conducting classes in person, but the need for Folyosó has not diminished a bit. To the contrary: it continues to bring out lively ideas, language, and art; bring writers and readers together; and assume a character and life of its own. Folyosó pieces might be witty, eerie, or serene–but they all show writers playing with stories and words.

Some of the pieces have come out of English assignments; others came out of the blue. It has started to happen–with increasing frequency–that a student will stop to speak with me in the hallway, or at the end of class, and will tell me, “I think I have a piece for Folyosó.” In one case, a Varga graduate sent me a piece. Another former Varga student sent me photo art for the Folyosó Gallery. As the word spreads and the readership builds, there will be still more surprises.

This fall we had our first Folyosó contest, on the subject of how we determine what is important in life. This was a first in more than one way. It was the first time that students could submit work in Hungarian to the journal. Also, it was the first time that I involved colleagues in the selection of pieces. A five-person jury (Anikó Bánhegyesi, Judit Kassainé Mrena, Judit Kéri, Marianna Jeneiné Fekete, and myself) selected the winning pieces. This allowed not only for multiple perspectives, but also shared enjoyment.

So sit back, enjoy, and get rattled! Read Áron Antal’s touchingly humorous “Grandpa’s Stories,” Lilla Kassai’s morbid yet tender “Danse Macabre,” Gergely Sülye’s “All Should Be in Order,” Gábor Medvegy’s “The Damned Man,” Bernadett Sági’s “Taller Than Tall,” and much more! Share the pieces with others–and if you have a comment, please leave it here. We have one comment page for the whole journal, so please specify which piece you are commenting on.

For the winter issue, we look forward to our first-ever international contest, as well as a number of dramatic pieces that take Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream in unexpected directions. Until then, the autumn issue of Folyosó will give you many hours of good reading. Thank you for taking part.


Diana Senechal
English and Civilization Teacher
Editor of Folyosó

About the Contributors

Folyosó Issue 1:2 (Autumn 2020)

Áron Antal likes to spend his time in nature and in the bordering land around his town; interested in old machinery, cars and motorcycles especially, and things from the mid-nineteenth century to the 90s, as well as the lifestyle of that era, he is trying to include these in his stories and build them a plot, an important role. 

Gergő Busa is a short and charismatic student who often helps his friends when they ask (especially in history), people often refer to him as the “Storyteller,” and he is also involved in the great hobby of Warhammer 40K.

Dániel Dancza is a student from 11C who is only now getting into writing after many years of daydreaming. Though currently working on a psychological horror series with many fantastical elements, he plans to move into pure high fantasy later.

Lili Forgács is a sixteen-year-old girl with an enormous heart and even larger dreams.

Zsófia Gávris is a sixteen-year-old girl who sees the positive side of everything and tries to find the beautiful things in her everydays.

Lilla Kassai is a bit of a weird girl who loves dark and morbid jokes and is not afraid of telling them to people like you.

Fanni Kepenyes is a bookworm who also likes to write her own stories.

Attila Marcell Kiss was born in Szolnok.

Ilona Králik is just a girl at the beginning of her life, but she already has big goals for her future.

Dániel Lipcsei is a folk dancer in two ensembles, Rákóczi Néptáncetyüttes—Rákóczifalva and Tisza Táncegyüttes, and a member of Class 12.C at the Varga Katalin Gimnázium.

Gábor Medvegy is a man as simple as a heavily modified MK-IV nuclear submarine, and whose chaotic, incoherent sentences are piled on each other in such way that he often mistakes them for a ‘story’.

Anna Mészáros tries as many new things as possible.

I am Adél Mihályi, and I am not good at speaking, so I write.

Laura Mora is a girl who tries to be a better person and makes an effort to improve herself in many ways.

My name is Bernadett Sági and I am so excited, because this is the second time that my work has been published on the internet.

Heléna Spinou is a seventeen-year-old daydreamer who loves adventurous experiences, especially during trips abroad.

According to Gergely Sülye, the quarantine of 2020 is something you can conveniently use for some serious self-improvement at home.

Alexandra (Süveges) is now drowning in an indescribable emptiness.

Sándor Szakács is a guy from Martfű who tends to overcomplicate things.

Erika Mária Szántó loves her dog.

Tamás Takács is an occasionally randomly inspired “writer.”

Gréta Tóth says, “Anything you say or do may be used in my story!”

Dorottya Turza: I’m like a book you have to read. A book can’t read itself to you. It doesn’t even know what it’s about.

Petra Varga: Dried roses, pictures, chansons, memories, poems. Rationalist….

Dominika Zahar is a daydreamer who reaches for the Sun.

The Gift That Changed a Life

Áron Antal

Mr. Able was a proud citizen of Sanctuary; he was a friendly fellow, liked by everyone in town. He was a nice old man, polite and calm, did no harm to anyone in his life, and was totally healthy both mentally and physically, despite his age. He had only one son, who lived in California, a businessman, so much so that he hadn’t been able to visit in years. He wasn’t at Mrs. Able’s burial. She died five years previously, on the thirteenth of July, from a heart attack caused by a wild night-motorbike-rider, whose exhaust was so loud that it caused Mrs. Able’s end. That was the reason that Mr. Able hated bikers so much. He never liked them, even when he was young, it wasn’t his style; but he started hating them more when the Japanese sportbikes invaded America with their four-row engines and fancy paint jobs. These bikes were super appealing for the youngsters, who put loud exhausts on them and thought that the road was their racetrack. And he downright hated them since his wife had died from one of them.

He was about to turn seventy-five the next day, on the thirteenth of July.

– Five years have passed in loneliness – he thought. – My only wish is that my son could visit me. I haven’t seen him in the past seven years. He couldn’t even come to his mother’s burial; he was too busy. And since then I haven’t spoken a word with him. How could his job be more important than his mother’s burial? But perhaps I should forgive him. He was trying to establish his life. At that time he found himself a girl. I wonder what happened with their relationship? But since our argument we haven’t exchanged a word. I don’t even know that he can forgive me.

With these thoughts in mind, he fell asleep in his bed.

In the morning, he woke to the sound of someone ringing the doorbell. He put on his bathrobe, went to the door, and opened it. To his biggest surprise, instead of the postman, he saw his son.

– Father! I would like to apologize for how I behaved and what a jerk I have been throughout all these years! Please forgive me, for mom’s sake!

– Oh son, I will!, I will! – cried out Mr. Able in tears.

– You don’t know what a relief it is for me to hear that!

– I know it.

– Also, happy birthday, dad.

–Thanks, son. Have you…

– Yes I have visited mom, and said a proper goodbye to her. I hope that she will forgive me as well.

– I’m sure she has forgiven you already. But come on in!

They talked all the day through, about Shaun’s business, life, and about how he was going to marry his girlfriend the next summer.

– I’m so glad to hear that! I always know you would find the perfect one one day.

– Oh, I almost forgot! – said Shaun.

– Forgot what exactly? – asked Mr. Able.

– Your birthday present! Come out, it’s in my van.

They walked out to the street where Shaun’s business van was parking. When he opened the back door, Mr. Able was speechless. Inside the van was a vintage motorbike. But when Mr. Able was finally able to get a word out, his son got a phone call.

– Sorry, dad, but I have to go now, it’s very important, but I’ll come back as soon as possible – he said, pulled out the bike from the van, hugged his father, and drove away.

Mr. Able was standing, wordless. His son had given him the one thing he disliked the most.

– I shall kill what killed my wife, he thought, walked to his garage, took a gas canister and a lighter, and approached the motorbike. But when he was about to pour gasoline on it and burn it, he realised that his son did not know the circumstances of how his mother died, and it was a present after all, so he decided to keep it. He put it into his garage and tried to forget about it.

One month later, Mr. Able realised that he had a motorbike, and started thinking. After an hour or so, he came to a realization about why he never liked the riders; he actually did like them once upon a time. He remembered a day that he had long forgotten: he was standing by a motorbike shop with his friends in 1963, staring at a special limited Hungarian model: Pannonia MT63 motocross, which was a rare Hungarian import, said to be more reliable than any Harley-Davidson, sold with T1 models of the same trade. They talked about how from their saved money they would all buy one of these (they were way cheaper than other brands), but fate thought otherwise. The next day, his father’s station wagon broke down, which he used to commute to the next town to earn money for his family, and they had just renovated their house, so they had very little savings. Mr. Able thought he would help his family out, so he gave all his savings, the fruit of years of hard work, to his parents to repair his father’s car. This way he never had the chance to buy his dream, and he became envious of his friends, since they had such great adventures in which he could not take part. And this was the origin of his hatred of the bikers.

– Why are negative memories more likely to stay in the mind? – he thought. He became delighted and felt different. He went out to the garage and realised, just then, that his son had bought him his dream from the far past: a Pannonia MT63 motorbike.

– How could that have happened? I never told him about this ever! He became super excited and sat on the bike. It had a comfortable seat, a light suspension, and a lifted exhaust.

– What are you waiting for, dad? – asked Shaun, who  had just arrived back. – Take it for a ride!

Mr. Able hesitated a bit, but decided that now was the time to make up for the past. He stood up and kicked the kickstarter. The engine revved up on that characteristic two-stroke sound. He felt super nostalgic, pulled the clutch, put the transmission into first gear, and drove away towards the horizon full of joy.

This even changed his life through his new attitude toward riders. He still did not like the loud motorcycles, but he made new friends due to his new hobby and rode his bike almost every day, sometimes with his friends, whose relationship waved goodbye to the lonely days. All of this was made possible by his son, and he couldn’t thank him enough. He felt a bit guilty that he had become a rider, like the one who had caused his wife to die, but he thought that if Mrs. Able could be with him, she would be proud of her handsome husband for having a nice hobby at his age. And with these delightful thoughts he rode his bike and commuted with it everywhere, visited his son regularly, and rode for many years and more, always thinking: how an “unintended” present can change a life.

Grandpa’s Stories

Áron Antal

One sunny afternoon, my mother told me to go to my grandparents’ to ask them for some meat to bring home. They lived on the outskirts of the city, and I went with my scooter. When I arrived, my grandma opened the gate for me, and I parked in the garden. My grandpa had just stepped out of the house and started to speak to me. My grandparents’ garden was huge, and they grew crops and fruits in it for the family.

– Aaron, how are you?

– Fine grandpa, fine.

– Ya see my garden? See the potatoes? Look at them! Last year, you remember how big they grew? We could barely pull them out, they were so huge.

– Yeh grandpa, they were quite huge, but….

– Now, look at the tomatoes, how beautiful they are! They were so delicious! See how many beans I grew. There will be like a hundred kilos of them. And the apples, well, they’re the best in town, aren’t they?

– Yes, yes. – I said – and how are you?

– Fine, Aaron, time passes so fast, look at you how much you have grown.

– I don’t think I grew so much in one week, but if you say….

– Ya know, you always remind me of the times when I was young, I looked much like you back then. Me and my friends went to Moscow when we were in fourth grade in secondary school. We went there by train and it took almost a week to go there and back. I enjoyed it so much. The underground metros, they were so huge; the ceiling was like fifteen meters high, you could fit a town into there, and those majestic statues… But the place where we stayed… That was a bit nasty.

– I know, grandpa, you told me these stories like a hundred times and….

– You see, the apartment was full of roaches, literally full. They were everywhere. One night we stayed up and slapped them with our slippers. We killed a few hundred, but the next day they were back, hehe…

– I came for meat, grandpa….

– When I was young, like your little sister, me and my family used to live on a farm. But when the Cooperative took our land, my father decided to become a deliverer. We bought a wagon, because the Soviets gave us two of their horses in exchange for some food and alcohol, and we started the business. I helped my dad so much that I could barely stay awake at the end of the day.

– But weren’t you at school at the….

– We delivered almost everything: crops, coal, firewood etc. There were days when we went to twenty different places to deliver something. Once when my father drank too much, I was driving the wagon when I saw a piece of money on the pavement: it was a fifty-forint note! At the time when a scoop of ice cream was 1 forint. It was big money. But an old man on the other side saw it as well, so I fastened the wagon, jumped off of it, grabbed the note and jumped back in a mere second. The old man didn’t even know what had just happened! Ya know, school was much harder to get to then it is now. You see, when it was winter, sometimes the snow was a meter high and the temperature was freezing cold. My mother boiled potatoes when I was about to leave, and we put it in my pocket, so my hands stayed warm. Glove and snack for the trip. Very practical.

– It is, but I….

– Also we had cows and my mother made dairy products of them. But we had more than we needed, much much more, so we went to the local market to sell them. Sometimes me and my mother went to the Szolnok market by train to sell these products. It was astonishing for me back then. The streets were full of beautiful automobiles, there were huge crowds. At the market I saw ladies whose nails were painted and lips covered in lipstick. At the time it was a big deal, and I hadn’t seen anyone in our village do the same, mainly because it was very expensive to buy those things back then. And the smell, perfume everywhere! Of course that was even more unaffordable for the average person.

– I really don’t want to interrupt you grandpa, but I really have to go now, ’cause you know, I am err…. going to have a err… digitaal lesson. But I really enjoyed listening to your stories as always.

– You’re such a good listener, Aaron, a very good one indeed. Anyway, here is the meat.

I put it onto my scooter, waved goodbye, and drove away.

– It is always good to hear these stories – I thought – even though I think a lot of them are a bit tall, but there’s nobody to prove that. And maybe the honest “lying” makes them all the more enjoyable.


Áron Antal

On a cold winter day, me and my father started a conversation; we started talking about the old days, when my grandpa and his family lived in socialist Hungary: how they lived, what they did for amusement, how my grandpa earned money. My father began to tell a story about grandpa and what he did for a living:

– He worked hard in the TSZ, until he made his way up the ladder and became a leader, but when he was blamed by the government for things he never did, he had to leave and find a new way to provide for his family. So he thought it would be a good idea to buy bees and start producing honey. It turned out so well that in two years he had 200 families of bees, and could maintain his family, and had enough profit to buy a motorbike, with which he could visit the bees regularly. But when the 90s came and he could buy land for himself, he stopped working with the bees and concentrated on agricultural activities.

– And what happened to his motorbike? – I asked.

– He put it in our first storage warehouse.

– And is it there now?

– I think so.

– Can we bring it home for me? Please.

– Okay.

The next morning, we went out to the very outskirts of town, to my father’s yard, entered the warehouse, and really found it. It was overwhelming to hold my grandfather’s heritage in my hand. And on that very day, I got “infected” with an incurable disease: mechanic mania. It is a strange illness mixed with a bit of addiction. The patient renovates a motor, but while doing so, he buys another. Then he buys and sells, takes some apart, and feels splendid while doing so; he thinks: what a hobby! But after a couple of years, he becomes obsessed and spends every free minute with his business, which grows and grows until the point of no return. At least that was the situation with me.

Since the recovery of my grandfather’s old bike, almost four years had passed. I was feeling very proud of what I had achieved, fabulous in fact. But I realised that my hobby, which I really like, had become my job about a year ago. I started feeling ambivalent about my hobby, since I spent so much time with it. Around that time, I started wondering about the day when I would meet that special one. At that point I realised what I had done. I had almost cheated on someone; my hobby. I then realised that it was my life, my partner. It horrified me, and made me think about giving up this damn thing, and I settled.

A year ago, when my “addiction” reached a peak, there were days when I spent fourteen hours tweaking up bikes, couldn’t sleep, because of the thoughts about my projects. And now I see that I left the border far behind with this hobby. How could I have been so blind?

Since then, my life has taken a turn. I do much less work with my bikes, and concentrate on the real life going around me. Now I only ride my bikes, and do one, maybe two hours of work a day. My perspective has totally changed, and I am very close to curing my “addiction,” which has mostly faded away by now, along with my obsession, thanks to the encouragement and help of my family and my own consciousness. Now I have much more time for maintaining relationships with my family and friends. Now I see that my life is starting to change, getting back on the track of a positive future for myself and the ones I love, with me having a fun, part-time hobby, not an addiction.

Issue 1:2 (Autumn 2020)

Welcome to the Autumn 2020 issue of Folyosó! Treat yourself to a plethora of autumnal and non-autumnal pieces in a range of forms and moods: tall tales, humorous dialogues, introspections, spooky descents, eye-opening travels, and more. The cover art is by Lilla Kassai; please click on it to enlarge it. We also proudly present the first Folyosó contest, on the topic of priorities in life and how we determine them. We welcome your readership and comments!

Letter from the Editor

Fiction and Quasi-Fiction


First Folyosó Contest: Priorities in Life


About the Contributors

Submit to the Winter 2020–2021 Issue and First International Contest!

Cover art by Lilla Kassai.


Folyosó’s Fourth International Contest, Autumn 2023

In 2023 there were two contest themes: freedom and mistakes! Congratulations to all the winners and honorees, and many thanks to Varga teachers Krisztina Csatlós and Anikó Bánhegyesi, who served on the jury along with Diana Senechal for the Freedom contest. (Diana Senechal was the sole judge for the Mistakes contest.) All of the pieces listed below—and much more—will appear in the Autumn 2023 issue of Folyosó, to be released later in November.

Theme 1: Freedom

Write a story, poem, essay, dialogue, letter, or other work that explores the nature of freedom: its complexities, simplicities, possibilities, impossibilities, and more.

  • Folyosó Award: Szymon Kochański (3 Liceum Ogólnokształcące im. Agnieszki Osieckiej w Sopocie, Sopot, Poland), “The Power of the Word – The Weakness of Will”

(This is a special award for a work of exceptional substance, merit, and originality.)

  • First Place: Nil İrigül (Lycée Sainte Pulchérie, Istanbul, Turkey), “What My Father Taught Me”
  • Second Place:  Eszter Forvith (Varga Katalin Gimnázium, Szolnok, Hungary), “Tom”
    Third Place: Fatma Irmak Tuncel (Lycée Sainte Pulchérie, Istanbul, Turkey), “The Ballad of the Moon”
  • Fourth Place: Nilüfer Doğanca (Lycée Sainte Pulchérie, Istanbul, Turkey), “The Abstract Obstacle”
  • Honorable mention: Fanni Farkas (Varga), “Prisoner”; Janka Krech (Varga), “A Different Angle”; Léda Karmazin (Varga), “There Must Be”; Ella Reynolds (Pinelands High School, Cape Town, South Africa), “The Room with No Soul”; Márk Kovács (Varga), “The Bird”
  • Also to be published: Julia Czajka (3 Liceum Ogólnokształcące im. Agnieszki Osieckiej w Sopocie), “I Only Swim in the Dark in My Room”; Léna Varga (Varga), “That Will Be My Freedom”; Donát Balogh (Varga), “The Story of a Bird”; Márk Gál (Varga), “Freedom Balanced with Rules”

Theme 2: Mistakes

We dread making mistakes, but sometimes they are the most important things that happen to us. Write an essay, story, poem, dialogue, letter, or other work in which a mistake plays a key role.

  • First Place: Luca Türk (Árpád Vezér Gimnázium, Sárospatak, Hungary), “My Diary”
  • Second Place: Dominik Nemcsok (Varga Katalin Gimnázium, Szolnok, Hungary), “Mistakes”
  • Third Place: Mira Melinda Csépe (Varga Katalin Gimnázium, Szolnok, Hungary), “I Miss You”
  • Fourth Place: Ivett Csenge Csehi (Árpád Vezér Gimnázium, Sárospatak, Hungary), “Everybody Makes Mistakes”
  • Honorable mention: Márk Gál (Varga), “Why Are Mistakes Important?”; Áron Kaposvári (Varga), “Mistakes – Good or Bad”; Ceren Selimata (Lycée Sainte Pulchérie), “Not Hating Them, Just Thriving By Them”; Dániel Darabos (Árpád Vezér Gimnázium), “A Fatal Error”

Folyosó’s Third International Contest, Autumn 2022

In 2022 there were two contest themes: connections between the arts, and social criticism. Congratulations to the winners!

Theme 1: Write a piece that in some way connects two or more of the arts (including dance, music, literature, fine arts, theatre, film, and more).

  • First Place: Zsófia Szabina Gávris, The Peak of Intelligence (with credit to Eszter Klára Szabó for technical assistance)
  • Second Place: Lilla Kassai, Can You Draw Faster, Picasso?
  • Third Place: Helka Ondok, Being a Dancer; and Petra Varga, Versatile Art
  • Honorable Mention: Adél Mihályi, An (Un)helpful Guide for Creating the Perfect K-pop Group; Eszter Aletta Hevesi, Artistic Travel; and Selin Rana Özkarahan, Death on Two Legs: The Wave That Crushed and Rebuilt Visions

Theme 2: Write a piece of social criticism: explaining what is wrong, misguided, or distorted about a tendency in society.

  • First Place: Fatma Irmak Tuncel, The Gray
  • Second Place: Ezgi Yılmaztekin, Just a Normal Woman’s Life; and Áron Antal, Old Acquaintance
  • Third Place: Ela Kazandağ, Second Chance
  • Honorable Mention: Eszter Klára Szabó, Performative Activism

Many thanks to Judit Kassainé Mrena and Anikó Bánhegyesi, who helped judge the second category (Diana Senechal judged the first category on her own).

Of the winners and contributors, the following six attend the Lycée Sainte Pulchérie in Istanbul: Selin Rana Özkarahan, Fatma Irmak Tuncel, Ezgi Yılmaztekin, Ela Kazandağ, Joshua Robles, and Kaya Tunçer. The others attend the Varga Katalin Gimnázium in Szolnok, Hungary.

Folyosó’s Second International Contest, Autumn 2021

Life is full of contradictions, but how well can you express this through a story, poem, dialogue, essay, or other written form?

Congratulations to the winners of Folyosó’s second international contest! The jury (Anikó Bánhegyesi, Marianna Jeneiné Fekete, and Diana Senechal) were moved by the quality and intensity of the submissions. Thanks to all for your participation! All finalists will be published in the Autumn 2021 issue of Folyosó.

  • First Place: Roza Kaplan*, “Raindrops in the Darkness”; Kitti Lili Tupi, “The Girl in the Window”; Sarin Nevruz*, “The Illusion Game of the Mind”
  • Second Place: Zsófia Szabina Gávris, “From Contradicting to Acting”; Dorottya Turza, “Not What I Thought It Was”; Adél Mihályi, “Coordinates”
  • Third Place: Aurelia Wiggins**, “On the World”; Başak Ünal*, “A Strangely Usual Day of Mr. Steve”; Ceylin Kıran*, “The Song of Being”
  • Honorable Mention: Ecem Göksenin Aday*, “The Reflection”; Eszter Aletta Hevesi, “Do We Really Need Time?”; Sára Eszter Radó, “The Extinct Fire”

*Lycée Sainte-Pulchérie, Istanbul, Turkey
**Columbia Secondary School for Math, Science & Engineering, New York, NY, USA
Everyone else: Varga Katalin Gimnázium, Szolnok, Hungary

Folyosó’s First International Contest, Winter 2020-2021

Congratulations to the winners of Folyosó’s first international contest! The jury (Judit Kéri, Anikó Bánhegyesi, Edit Göröcs, Nándor Szűcs, and Diana Senechal) had a difficult time deciding, since we enjoyed and admired the pieces so much. The winners are:

  • Grand Prize: Bernadett Sági (Varga Katalin Gimnázium, Szolnok), Virtual or Reality
  • First Place: Deniz Pala (Lycée Sainte-Pulchérie, Istanbul), Stronger Links
  • Second Place: Gergely Sülye (Varga Katalin Gimnázium, Szolnok), In an Arm’s Reach, and Kázmér Kaposvári (Varga Katalin Gimnázium, Szolnok), Salvation or the End
  • Third Place: Defne Lal Koçer (Lycée Sainte-Pulchérie, Istanbul), Life Consists of Choices, and Lilla Kassai (Varga Katalin Gimnázium, Szolnok), Bringing Dragons to Life
  • Honorable Mention: Lili Forgács (Varga Katalin Gimnázium, Szolnok), The Language-Capsule; Ahmet Yavuz Kaya (Lycée Sainte-Pulchérie, Istanbul), Muter3000; Eszter Aletta Hevesi (Varga Katalin Gimnázium, Szolnok), The Portal; and Alexandra Klaudia Süveges (Varga Katalin Gimnázium, Szolnok), Camping with a Little Bit of Magic.

Congratulations to all! All of the pieces will be published in Folyosó on Monday, February 15 and their authors will receive certificates within the next two weeks.

Contest Description: Imagine a new invention that, as far as you know, does not already exist. Describe it in an essay, story, poem, letter, dialogue, or other form of writing. The invention may be serious or silly, practical or whimsical, plausible or absurd (or any combination of these qualities). You may accompany it with drawings if you wish, but this is not required. Your piece should explain how the invention came into existence, how it works, and what purpose it serves (or could serve) in a fictional world. It should be entirely imaginary; if you have any actual inventions, don’t include them in this contest. Instead, develop them and apply for a patent!

Past Contests

Congratulations to the winners of Folyosó’s Autumn 2020 Contest! Thanks to Judit Kéri, Marianna Jeneiné Fekete, Judit Kassainé Mrena, and Anikó Bánhegyesi, who, along with editor-in-chief Diana Senechal, read the finalist entries and selected the winners. All winning pieces, including honorable mentions, will be published in the Autumn 2020 issue of Folyosó. We are happy that the choice was so difficult, that there were so many interesting pieces to read! To see the contest description, please scroll down.

First Place: Adél Mihályi
Second Place: Gergely Sülye, Erika Mária Szántó, Attila Marcell Kiss (each individually)
Third Place: Zsófia Szabina Gávris
Honorable Mention: Dániel Lipcsei, Heléna Laura Spinou, Gréta Tóth

Autumn 2020 Contest: How do we determine what is important in life? What makes us change our mind about our priorities? Are priorities just a matter of personal preference, or do they have universal value? Whom do we affect with our decisions about what is and isn’t important? Who influences these decisions, and how?

Write about any of these questions (or related questions) in a form of your choice, such as a poem, play, essay, dialogue, letter, or story. It can be serious or silly, analytical or playful, a combination of these, or something else entirely. Mail the submission as a Word attachment to diana.senechal at vargaszolnok.hu. Please put the word “Contest” in the subject header. For this contest only, we will consider pieces in Hungarian as well as in English. The deadline is September 30, 2020.

Hogyan határozzuk meg, hogy mi a fontos az életben? Mi késztet bennünket arra, hogy megváltoztassuk dolgaink fontossági sorrendjét? A prioritás csak egyéni vonzódás, értékrend kérdése, vagy hordozza az általánoshoz igazodást is? Kikre és milyen hatással van az, hogy mit tartunk fontosnak és mit nem? Kik és hogyan befolyásolják az értékrendünket?

Ehhez vagy ehhez kapcsolódó témában várunk bármilyen műfajú (vers, dráma, tanulmány, levél, dialódus, novella). A mű hangvétele lehet komoly vagy könnyed, elemző vagy játékos stb., illetve ezek kombinációja.

Az angol vagy magyar nyelven írt pályaművet kérjük Word-dokumentumban Diana Senechal számára kérjük elküldeni: diana.senechal@vargaszolnok.hu. Az email tárgyaként tüntessék fel: Contest. A beküldési határidő: 2020. szeptember 30.