Fiction

Réka Haluska and Napsugár Molnár

Antonio Markspen

This little brochure is the short summary of my Best Seller (on Earth) called My Getaway from Plorlour.

I would like you to read this not for my own wealth and sake, but for my planet’s citizens. Let’s try to help them together.

Let me start by introducing our solar system:

Our planet has a very strange sun that only emits colorfully reflectable light once a month, on the 11th.

That day may be the time of your life, but do not let this fool you.

THE COLOUR DAY

Firstly, I will tell you about the day only your richest Earth fellows are familiar with. Yes, this is the only day when you can travel to our planet.

It starts when our own “time square” in the captial city reaches zero. Different time zones’ colourful 24 hours start at different periods of the day.

Everything from that point on is seen colourful, just like the way you see things on Earth every day of your life.

Shops open, people paint buildings, themselves and even others with paint bombs. This tradition is called bovali. There are festivals everywhere, neon signs are lit and nightlife is blooming. Everyone has a day off of work; even the shops are automatic, as we have very advanced technology.

It is a tourist attraction for the Earth’s top-tier man.

You get fireworks, laughs and everything you want.

But reality hits when the colour day is off.

THE GREY DAYS

Let me show you the other side of the “story.” The one no one talks about and no one knows about.

Unlike the glorious color day you all know, the rest of the days are cold, bland, rigid and something no one would be eager to visit.

Every single day looks the same, you wake up, go to work, buy groceries, go home, eat, sleep and repeat. This boring cycle is mindrotting, but in the moment you feel like it is worth it for that one day. To spend money, go on programmes. But in reality, is it really worth it?

From my perspective, it is  not. But there, they fill your mind with propaganda, the type that makes you think that this is the greatest planet in the whole universe. A place where people have a reason to keep going. They tell you that on Earth, every day is colourless, which makes you unmotivated to get away from Plorlour.

Now to focus more on the colourless days, I will try to express how depressing all of it is. The atmosphere almost feels like a weight on your shoulder that you can not get off. Most people have mental problems and depression caused by the hopelessness. But how could they be happy? Nothing to do besides work, no entertainment, no funky stores open, no cafes, no clubs, no cinemas, nothing. Everything feels pointless.

I have a request and idea I would like your help with. I think we could make glasses/lenses which polarise our sun’s light in a way that everyone could see colour. Every. Day. This could give hope to my humans and could help maintain our planet.

Credits:

Story and book: Sára Radó, Veronika Török, Matilda Ősz.

Streetview and cover art: Matilda Ősz.

Zsófia Éva Zsiga

Maybe in September I met my trout fishing in America. Over the past months I always brought my trout fishing in America with me everywhere, but within the past few days something weird happened to me and my trout fishing in America. Our connection changed a lot. So the thing that happened is that sometimes my trout fishing in America just disappears like nothing happened. It is a really strange thing because my trout fishing in America never did that before, ever since we got to know each other. When my trout fishing in America is away from me, I am happier than ever. My trout fishing in America is bad for me, because it can control my feelings, my thoughts, and everything about me. It made me feel so much worse than I ever felt about myself. I am so tired of the things I think about, the way my brain works and the things I do when it is by my side. When my trout fishing in America found me, I felt like our meeting was written by someone who is known by almost everyone. It’s as if the one that knows everyone and the one who is known by everyone had given me a challenge. It was really strange but I got used to it. Now that my trout fishing in America is gone sometimes, I don’t know what to do with myself, how to fix my life, how to recreate everything about my life like it was before our meeting. Now my life has gotten strange when it isn’t around me. Everyone is asking about my trout fishing in America, but i don’t even know it well enough. It’s like no one can know my trout fishing in America enough. My trout fishing in America is the strangest thing I ever experienced in my whole life, and I can’t really get away from it. I feel like I am attracted to my trout fishing in America; even though it isn’t good for me, I really miss it. I thought it would be great to get away from it, but it turned out I can’t really think about anything else when our connection is broken. I wish I could explain it better but it is really hard for me to talk about my trout fishing in America.

Note from the editor: This is one of twelve pieces in the Spring 2022 issue of Folyosó that play with the concept of Richard Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America.

Zóra Luca Tulik

One dark stormy night, an tall old man arrived, at a little ruined pub by the name of Trout Fishing in America located near a remote village the name of which has long been forgotten. The pub had only a few guests, an errant man who carried a dirty bag and a cat with only one eye, and four young knights who were on their way home but just stayed because of the night. The old man was hungry and tired, but he didn’t have enough money. Hearing this, the honorable knights decided to invite the old man for dinner in exchange for hearing a lovely story.

“Long ago,” the grey-bearded man said, “the villagers started to notice that every second day of the month a billy goat disappeared and a day later his skin showed  up on the mayor’s door. First they thought it was a freebooter who was angry with the mayor, but after the mayor died of old age, the disappearances kept on going. The old hunters said a huge monster who lived at the top of the hill was the one who ate the goats. On one of their hunting trips they saw it was three metres tall, it had arms and wings so long that it pulled them after itself when walking. It had claws and horns, and it wore a wolf fur coat whenever it went to the village. The youngest and bravest son of the mayor decided to go to the top of the hill to kill the monster once and for all, but he never made it back. His mother found his skin spread over his bed the following morning. To this day on stormy nights, as it is tonight, you can hear screams, though no one knows who is screaming.”

A long silence followed the words of the man, the faces of the knights anxious as if waiting to hear a scream. After a  few minutes the young knights burst out laughing at his story.

“This is like a fish-wives tale my nanny used to scare me with.” the youngest knight said.

“Well the fish-wives in the village certainly believe the story. Even my mother would never let me go to the hill as a kid, and mind you well, my mother is a brave soul,” the old man said solemnly with a smile.

“Very well, old man,” the young knight said with a grin, “we’ve heard your story, but we have a long journey to our homes in the castle and an early morning to wake up. Let’s go to sleep.” They all walked up the stairs, each to his own room.

At night the guards of the village heard the screams, as was usual on the stormy nights, and one of them swore he had seen a tall old man go along the river towards the hill, wrapped in a coat made of wolf fur. His arms almost touched the ground and he was dragging something shiny that looked like armour. No one took the guard seriously, as he was the mayor’s grandson and for years had drunk a few gallons of wine every evening, because he didn’t want to have nightmares where the monster visited him.

In the morning the owner of the pub was waiting patiently for his guests to come down, but when the maid came to change the beds, he was forced to go upstairs. He opened the old man’s door, but no one was inside, and the bed was untouched, as if he had never been there. He went to wake up the knights. As he opened the door he recognized with horror that all that was left of the knights was their skin laid out on the beds, and all their shiny armour was missing….

Note from the editor: This is one of twelve pieces in the Spring 2022 issue of Folyosó that play with the concept of Richard Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America.

Odett Tajti

He grabbed his jacket and left the silent house. It was early in the morning, the grass was wet  and the temperature was near zero. Tom opened the car door and let the aging dog, Rosy, jump into the backseat of the blue wrecked/damaged car, and they took off. During the drive Rosy was sleeping calmly and the radio was playing some old songs quietly. Tom was watching the beautiful Sun rise, which covered the sky with pale yellow, blue and warm rose gold colours.

The car stopped on a dirt road next to a wet field, which led to a big thick forest. Tom put the leash on the dog, and they started going towards the trees. They finally got into the forest, but by that time Tom’s boots were completely soppy. The boy and the doggy started walking. Tom had wanted to come here, because he was so tired and wanted to get away from the city and people for a while. They were walking slowly because the ground was pretty slippery. Some moments later they stopped because they heard a loud noise. They both got scared. Tom took a step closer to a  massive tree. Suddenly  there was a giant whoop. Rosy barked and she somehow ran away. Tom tried to reach her but he couldn’t. He began walking in the direction where the dog had gone. He was shouting her name, hoping that she would come back. After a while he stopped and closed his eyes to think about his situation. Then he heard a bark. He opened his eyes but  didn’t see anything. He turned  around and saw an old man. The man was short and was wearing dark green plastic boots and a strange red hat.

“Who are you?” asked the man in a mysterious, but friendly tone.

“My name is Tom,” answered the boy in hesitation

“Good. I am Trout Fishing In America. And what are you doing here kid?”

“My dog ran away and I’m looking for her.”

“Oh I see. May I help you…” The old Man looked around and started thinking.

“Hmm.. Where should we start? Where?”

“Follow me!”

The old Man started going straight into the middle of the forest, and Tom followed him.

After about twenty minutes of walking, they reached a glade, and there was a little stream. In the water the boy saw big dark rocks and some fish, which were trout. While he was looking around, he suddenly saw Rosy, who was playfully attacking the trout. The dog looked happy and energetic and she seemed much younger than an hour before. The boy was so glad that he had found Rosy. He turned towards the old Man to say thanks to him, but somehow Trout Fishing In America had disappeared.

Note from the editor: This is one of twelve pieces in the Spring 2022 issue of Folyosó that play with the concept of Richard Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America.

Lotti Tajti

Once upon the time an angler went to the market to find a good bait for fishing trout.

He was there for a long time, but after three hours of searching he found the perfect bait. It was a part of a plant; the seller said that trout really liked it. The angler thought, “I still have a lot of time, so I will go to the docks to try this new bait out.”

He sat into a boat and left the shore thirty meters behind him. He let the fish-hook into the water. He spent many hours in the boat, but he didn’t manage to entrap any fish. He pulled up the hook, and in anger he threw the bait into the water and went home.

A few months later the fish started to disappear. The anglers were upset and called the harbour controller, who looked for a few divers and told them: “Go down and alert me if you find something!”

They swam down. After a while one of them came up and said: We have found something. “What did you find?” asked the controller.

“I don’t know exactly, but it looks like a plant with two huge fishnets and in those there are hundreds of fish.”

Everybody, who heard this was shocked. A plant with huge fishnets! The diver brought up the nets with the fish; they were taken to market, and then the nets were brought back. After a period of time they were filled again.
The plant was named “trout fishing in America,” and furthermore, it is used for fishing trout.

Note from the editor: This is one of twelve pieces in the Spring 2022 issue of Folyosó that play with the concept of Richard Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America.

Hédi Szabó

The sunshine was lighting up the whole coffee shop. Delightful weather like this brings an awesome mood to everyone. This morning, our coffee shop was completely full of people who just wanted to enjoy what a lovely time we were having. Everyone was sitting outside the cafe bar. We had a busy morning. Just brew and brew the dark caffeine-full drink, we haven’t got a calm three minutes. But of course this is what we love the most. For a minute I just thought about how I’m living the life that I’ve always imagined for myself. I was deep in my thoughts when suddenly I realized somebody had come up to the counter. For a moment I felt a bit embarrassed, because I didn’t know how long she had been waiting for me. With a smile, I asked what she wanted to drink. She told me she wanted to order a drink which was suitable for “trout fishing in America.” At first, I thought I had heard it incorrectly. But she repeated it. I started to panic a little because I started to overthink it. Is this a phrase that I don’t know? Is she kidding me? Is she just bad at English? Everyone could have easily said about me that I was really confused. So fortunately, she quickly explained it to me. Trout fishing in America is a feeling you get when you are happy for no reason. Nothing special has happened to you, you just have the feeling your life is good the way it is. You can literally smile because you are satisfied with things around you at the moment you are in.  After that guest, my life changed, to put it bluntly. Every time I feel unreasonably happy, I say I’m feeling “trout fishing in America.” I wish for everyone to feel “trout fishing in America” more often.

Note from the editor: This is one of twelve pieces in the Spring 2022 issue of Folyosó that play with the concept of Richard Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America.

Mirtill Ondok

Today I walked to the store to get the newest trout fishing in America. It was a must, everyone had it. The way the material shone as the sunshine met the glittery pattern was breathtaking. I thought it’d look so good on me. As I walked into the store, there was silence. I found it weird because trout fishing in America was only sold in this store and everyone was trying to buy it. I took a turn to the right, and there it was; a labyrinth with a sign that said “trout fishing in America” with an arrow that pointed right into the labyrinth. As I passed the entrance of the labyrinth I was in a galaxy-themed room, and to get to the other side of the room, I had to jump on planets. They were far away from each other, so as I jumped on Neptune, I had to slow down a bit because I was exhausted. I finally made it to the next room, which was a field full of animals. I tried to pass by but couldn’t; it was too crowded. A cow came to me and handed me a pack of food. I threw the food so far away that every animal in the room disappeared, as they were running in the same direction as the nutriment. The field became empty and I could easily cross it. At the end of it, there was no sunshine and no planets, but most importantly no trout fishing in America. I found myself on the street again. I realized it was just a dream, but when I woke up to the sound of my alarm, it was painful. It was painful because I really wanted that trout fishing in America. I went downstairs and my mum gave me a pretty box with a big bow on it. I opened the gift and there was a card that said “Happy birthday!” and under the card hid my trout fishing in America, just as I had imagined.  

Note from the editor: This is one of twelve pieces in the Spring 2022 issue of Folyosó that play with the concept of Richard Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America.

Emese Kassai

It was a normal, almost boring day at school. The weather was cloudy and rainy, which gave a spleenful feeling to the students.

If I remember correctly, it started in biology class. The girl sitting next to me was texting someone when she put her hand before her mouth in surprise. And I, being the curious teenager I am, peeked at her phone, and almost exclaimed! She and I looked at each other, then we started whispering, distributing the information. Soon the whole classroom was buzzing. After the bell rang, everyone ran to tell their friends the news. That way, almost the whole school, and even most of the city, knew it by the afternoon. I could hear every people whispering:

Trout fishing in America??! With HIM?

What does that even mean?

Ah, you know…Trout fishing…in America…You know..

Who is He?

Why is this relevant?

It must have been a nice trout fishing in America…

Who told you this?

Who is She?

When did this happen?

I would love to go trout fishing in America too….

REALLY? They didn’t even invite me?

Well, good for them I guess….

Ah, I’m also very good at trout fishing in America … At least that’s what people tell me….

Oh my God! I have heard about it, I would like to try that too!

Oh, come on, it’s the eighth time I’ve heard it today, I DON’T CARE!

And it kept getting more interesting. Everyone had a theory about what that phrase stood for, but no one knew for sure. The information became a whole story, which was different to everyone. Even I didn’t understand it fully. To this day it remains a mystery that cannot be solved.

Note from the editor: This is one of twelve pieces in the Spring 2022 issue of Folyosó that play with the concept of Richard Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America.

Janka Jónás

When American scientists were studying the ancient Greek Olympic games, they found a new game they didn’t know. They called it “Trout fishing ín America.” They found a description of the rules. What is more, they found a painting that showed people playing Trout fishing in America. Trout fishing in America is a race that took place one a year in springtime when it rained a lot and there were a lot of naked snails in the fields. The sportsmen had to carry a big jar, in which they collected as many snails as they could. While they were looking for them, they had to hop on one foot. In the Trout fishing in America, they had one hour to collect the snails, and the winner was the man who collected the most. The purpose of the Trout fishing in America was to clean the fields, because the snails ate their plants. Nowadays the Trout fishing in America has become a popular sport throughout the whole World, because people want to get rid of snails, because they are very harmful… ~NEWS~ We have just heard that the Trout fishing in America will take a place at the next Olympic Games.

Note from the editor: This is one of twelve pieces in the Spring 2022 issue of Folyosó that play with the concept of Richard Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America.