V uplynulom školskom roku sme na podnet pedagógov z Gymnázia sv Edity Steinovej zorganizovali mestské kolo súťaže v kreatívnom písaní Short Story Competition 2025.

Táto súťaž poskytla priestor mladým autorom prejaviť svoj talent, fantáziu a pohľad na svet prostredníctvom krátkych poviedok písaných v anglickom jazyku.

Cieľom súťaže bolo podporiť tvorivé písanie, rozvíjať jazykové zručnosti a kreativitu študentov. Súťaž bola otvorená pre študentov stredných škôl z nášho mesta. Prihlásené príspevky nás potešili svojou nápaditosťou, jazykovou istotou aj žánrovou a tematickou rozmanitosťou. Tohtoročné zadanie nabádalo autorov k zamysleniu sa nad témou odvahy, vytrvalosti, slobody aj osobným vyrovnaním sa s neistotou, ktorú prináša budúcnosť.

V najbližších letných týždňoch Vám prinesieme sedem súťažných poviedok v ich plnom znení. Veríme, že vo vás zanechajú rovnako silný dojem, aký zanechali v nás usporiadateľoch aj v odbornej porote.

Divan Japonais

The warm atmosphere reflected from the bar seemed to be solving the cynical thoughts coming from the bar guests. Divan Japonais was a newly refurbished cabaret bar situated in Montmartre. Even though it was known as a cabaret bar, it wore a classy ambience. One of the reasons why it seemed that way was potentially thanks to its visitors. In the center of the place, close to the wall was a brown suede divan of Japanese origin. What was quite satiric about this place was that although it brought vast inspiration from Japan, the Japanese representation ended there. In 1893 in Paris, Asians were not allowed into such highly viewed places, especially not in the Montmartre district. Frankly, it did not matter that the Divan Japonais had the best sake and whisky imported from Japan or that the bartenders were dressed as samurais and the waitresses as geishas. It would be rather difficult to break social imbalances thanks to one exotic establishment. Sitting in the mentioned divan was Jane Avril, famous can-can dancer. Can-can dancers were full of energetic and dynamic dancing. They were easily distinguishable as they wore corsets and flouncy skirts. Jane did not have the same apport as usual. Enhancing her silhouette was a long black dress that hugged her figure in all the right places. On her head she wore rather dramatic black hat with few feathers here and there. Jane was one of the most known can-can dancers but this evening the only recognizable trait of hers was her face. She always had that soft look of hers signifying care and demure personality. Now, if you were lost in conversation with somebody else and for a second, your eyes would meet hers, they would be met with sharp, seductive and almost manic sentiment. Like every classy lady in Paris in the 1890s, she smoked a cigarette. From the shadows of the bar emerged a man walking side by side with his wooden stick and ludicrously capacious bag. In the matter of minutes, a well-known face that belonged to Ed Dujardin appeared in the frame too.

“Decided to change outlook today, Jane?”, Ed spoke his sentence while keeping prominence of his pronunciation at the end of the sentence.

If Edouard was an animal, he would be a snake for this very reason. To be fair, it seemed fitting for a literary critic to have a voice laced with venom. But not to forget, this was his visage created by the society and maybe partially by himself also. His more liked acquaintances knew, he also hid honey like tone in his voice. When Jane heard a voice like his, she knew she was about to have interesting conversation.

“Do you not have other artists to provoke, Ed?”, Jane exclaimed with a bit of a sting at the end of the sentence. To return the favor, of course.

Edouard was about to fish in his brown leather bag that was barely keeping up with his way of care for things. Any minute now, the bag could tear apart. Thankfully, Edouard placed his most important things at the very top. That’s why an old journal, that looked like it had the same age as Ed and his bag, was brought to the fresh air of the bar in matter of seconds.

“I already did”, Ed waved his old journal at Jane with a slimy smile.

Well, it would not be him if he didn’t finish with some snarky remark: “But it is rather rich you decided to call yourself an artist, Miss Jane Avril”.

“Oh please, everybody here and their maman knows who I am. We can hardly say that about you. You keep hiding behind magazine and journal pages.”, Jane like to keep up with the spirit offered by Edouard. Even more, when she had a lillet blanc or two.

“You know better than anyone, I would gladly take on a fight. If only the new prissy poets would be willing to be more radical”, who would be the artist and critics without sense of radicalism.

In places like these, to specify, bars and cabarets, it was simpler to express one’s true personality. The night lasts only so long. After every hungover, the sunshine brings the residence of Montmartre back to reality. Whatever the drinkers said in the night, in the day we do not see them with the same amount of courage and freedom.

“We are the stars, Ed. But stars do not shine forever. Sooner or later, we will burn.”, Jane exclaimed as she blew the smoke from her mouth.

“Dear heavens, Jane, that is the point. Our meaning here is to create something that immortalizes us. Like Yvette for example, her songs will echo through the streets of Montmartre and entire Paris for long time to come.”, the singer mentioned by Ed was singing at the very moment.

Yvette Guilbert was famous for her voice, satire, drama and without any doubt, her long black gloves. This evening, she wore her signature gloves together with white flowy dress, giving her more ethereal look. She looked like a muse to the painters, salvation for the sinners and an angel to the drunk. If one would think hard enough about this evening, they could come to the conclusion that Jane and Yvette changed their appearances. Jane borrowed the ironic drama while Yvette had the demure calmness surrounding her.

“So, you have your poems and published comments filled with hatred, Yvette has her songs, and I have dances. How in the dear heaven, will that immortalize me”, finished Jane with a wonder.

It was almost laughable, however could a can-can dancer from Moulin Rouge have her name known forever. That is when Ed decided to bring up his wooden stick that was resting against the divan. With the stick he showed Jane the direction in which there was Henri Toulouse-Lautrec. This was a moment that would define them.

Henri was dear friend of Ed Fournier, the owner of the establishment. Fournier decided to hire Lautrec in order to paint a poster, which they could use to spread the word of the reopened Divan Japonais. A smile flashed across Janes face, showing her sharp teeth. Truly, if you had never seen Jane before this night, you would hardly believe anyone calling her soft and gentile.

Truth be told, Jane was never stupid per se. She had the option to be more than a simple can-can dancer. What could one do in the terms of love? It does not choose who will admire what. Although Jane pondered many nights like these whether she made a right choice, she was not filled with regret. To be painted by Lautrec meant she truly had something to immortalize her. Century and something later maybe she would still be found thanks to this painting and her name would remain.

“Well, what are we to do now?”, said Jane as she took a sip of her now third lillet.

“What we do always. Drink, dance, sing, walk and be critical. In other words, create art and be unapologetically us”, one of the most notable qualities about Ed was his honesty to himself.

French people were known to revolt since the beginning of France. Ed Dujardin was one of the gentlemen that would rather burn alive than give away his freedom. Never mind his age, he always created some dream for himself that he would accomplish.

“Is that your dream, Ed? To drink?”, Jane raised an eyebrow at him.

“The dream of mine right now is to have a memory of us that will remind the generations to come to live freely. To exist while knowing they are staying true to themselves. That is the dream, and I plan to achieve it”, Ed Dujardin slowly got up from the divan and retrieved his stick with the bag.

“Do you plan on coming or not, Jane?”, there was his snarky tone again.

At this point Jane had probably smoked away half of the cigarettes present in her case. Maybe it was the lillet, or the cigarettes or the way Yvette had sung to them tonight or maybe it was simple Jane’s desire to leave behind something that would remind people like her not to blend in with the shadows, she decided to come.

Coming out of the Montmartre district, both Jane and Ed were on their way to pass one of the many bridges across Seine. As they were choosing which bridge to pass, they always chose a bridge that was named after somebody that had something to do with art. This time it was Victor Hugo. There was not really an emotion yet existent to describe their feelings as of right now. Maybe glory mixed with purpose. Potentially, it could have been perseverance and the pursuit of one’s path – even when the road ahead is uncertain. What was certain, was the fact they did not plan on giving up anytime soon. As long as dancers danced in Moulin Rouge, as long as poets met in Divan Japonais, as long as Yvette sang her songs, they were there to immortalize the truth of it all. Jane Avril, Ed Dujardin and Yvette Guilbert were now painted forever at the poster of Divan Japonais. What else they talked about that evening and for the years to come we won’t know. Mystery liked to follow them even century later. What was clear that dark night was the way they walked with certainty. They had no map, only a dream and the will to move forward.