The VI edition of the Radio Lanzarote-Onda Cero Micro-story Contest already has a winner. It is Graciela Rodiño Vilariño. The jury has decided that her story "The Black Mantle", the heartbreaking story of a woman whom the war turned into a widow, is the winner of this year's contest, which had love and heartbreak as its theme. Along with this, the jury, made up of journalists from La Voz de Lanzarote and Radio Lanzarote, has awarded two other winners and has also chosen seven finalist stories.
Thus, Ana Montenegro Yebrí has won the second position, with a story without a title that narrates a bitter goodbye after a lifetime shared. Finally, the work "Destinations", a story of catharsis after a lost love, by María del Carmen Viñas Petian, has obtained the third prize. After this ruling, the winner of the contest, Graciela Rodiño Vilariño, will be able to enjoy a weekend at the Natura Palace hotel in Playa Blanca for two people, while the second classified will receive a Mezze for two people at the Sebastyan restaurant, in the same town, and the third winner will receive two tickets for the 6D cinema at the Biosfera Shopping Center in Puerto del Carmen.
For this edition of the contest, which has received a total of 130 participating stories, another seven finalist stories have also been chosen, which, although they do not obtain a prize, have also been chosen for their quality. These are the winning loves and heartbreaks of the contest:
The winning story: The Black Mantle, by Graciela Rodiño Vilariño:
That's how they saw her for the last time, walking towards the cliffs carrying on her chest the dilapidated radio that had arrived among her clothes. Sitting in that sea of rocks, with the pain corroding her soul, she shed bitter tears that cursed that useless, distant war, listening silently to the verses that he whispered to her in her nights of love. Once empty, lifeless, she walked towards the great blue.
Even today, when the sun shines on the waves, you can hear in the distance an old transistor sounding weakly while a black mantle floats adrift.
Second prize-winning story, by Ana Montenegro Yebrí:
He watched her from the altar as she advanced hooked to a bouquet of white lilies, attracted by the passion that those two eyes that contemplated her in each step that approached gave off.
She intertwined her nervous hands with those hands that would protect her all her life, after that yes I do that opened the doors to a place from which love did not want to escape for years.
Suddenly, the voice of a radio hits her with reality when the announcer reminds listeners of the time of the funeral. Her last hour next to the love of her life.
Third prize-winning story, Destinations, by María del Carmen Viñas Petian:
I head to the cliffs along the northern road. Nostalgia clouds my soul and his dawn voice seeks to nest inside me. I don't know if I will be able to return to the now, after the echo. Or be mist, with him.
I stop my car and start walking to the edge of the cliff. I inhale all the air of the disagreements to shout his name and say goodbye. The petals of the caresses fall into the abyss. I cry the centuries.
On the way back, the radio plays and our song makes me captive of yesterday and his eyes.
Unbreakable love. Two destinations.
Finalist stories:
Routine, by Inés Francisco:
When Hugo finished reading the note that his wife had left him telling him that she was leaving him, he had a hysterical laugh that preceded the crying; once the self-pity was unloaded, he put music on the radio and lay down on the bed in a fetal position hugging a cushion. He continued crying until he fell asleep.
Ana, sitting in front of the main door of the station, had let the one o'clock train escape and reflected on when her marriage had become a crisis sustained in convenience, while she waited for Hugo, again, to come and pick her up accompanied by routine and comfort.
Goodbye?, by Sarai Luis Placeres:
"You are sitting there, your gaze lost and your intense wet dark circles betray that you have been crying. The radio enlivens the lethargy of a last afternoon. I am torn between dreaming of new horizons or sailing an eternal sea of bonanza. I look at you and, for the last time, I raise my suitcase and walk towards the door. I am not able to say goodbye.
- I don't expect you to understand - were my last words - you can't eternally chain a free soul. Don't cut my wings.
I close the door behind me and, finally, I can breathe. I am free."
In the exhibition, by Laura de la Cruz:
The painting of the woman who was crying attracted him to the back of the gallery. Her body, her hair, her fine hands, her gaze full of melancholy, all of her made him want to console her, dry her tears and kiss her endlessly.
In the background, through the radio, "la vie en rose" sounded, and he thought of the new colors that he had just discovered thanks to her. He approached, the woman extended her hand.
When the exhibition ended he had disappeared. The image of the painting had changed, in its place a couple merged in an eternal embrace.
Untitled, by Emilio Brun
My grandfather was Luis, my father Luis, me too. She Paloma, the first love, the first dance, the first kiss, the first sex, the first goodbye. The studies separated us. Thousands of years later we met with our small children in the Central Market. The memories passed like that moment before death, in which your life rolls at full speed through your mind and paralyzes you. Goodbye Paloma! Goodbye Carmelo! Not a vowel, not a vowel repeated while Roberto Carlos' The Distance was heard in the tea stall.
It would be Barbara, I thought, before going to bed.
Father, by Roque Mejías Barroso
He hoped that the radio would bring him sleep: like every night since you left, mother.
He was not so strong, nor did he care the same with you as without you.
From my room, plunged into darkness, between advertisements and sports results, I think I have also heard some sigh, some sob... the loneliness of a father!
When fatigue overcame me, his vigil gave me security, lulling me with the hum of his transistor.
I will never know if the four corners of his bed kept his dreams or tore his soul, consumed by love or heartbreak, but everything was less sad with you, mom.
Untitled, by Aridane Martín Rodríguez
Yesterday, finally, I could turn off the radio.
I stopped being afraid to hear what is heard when only I am left.
Today I smell cinnamon again without it reminding me of the coffee we shared. I look in the mirror at my nakedness without the memory designing your hands on my hands.
And I walk. I walk without your steps mattering. I'm not going to lie to you, I still miss discovering constellations joining your moles with kisses. But I already sleep. And when I wake up, I no longer need you to string together my dreams.
I just turned it on again. But this time it's to dance with myself.
Untitled, by Silvana Centurión
He looked for me among the people, went to the square, kissed three girls.
He kept looking.....
He traveled, he confused me with a flight attendant and she, stayed in the air.
He married the baker, realized that I was not, divorced.
He placed an ad on the radio, but did not finalize with any of the listeners.
Looking, looking, he went to a Chinese restaurant, and he didn't like the zongzi.
The day he stopped looking, we were introduced and he finally fell in love.
