There is one week left to register for the XIII edition of the 'Radio Lanzarote Micro-story Contest' and La Voz continues to receive the texts that will compete in the contest. Remember that in this year's edition, micro-stories can be submitted until August 31st.
On this occasion, participants must submit a micro-story that should not exceed 100 words, not counting the introductory text that we will provide below. Also, all stories will have the same title: "A character loses his author" and the same beginning: "Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper".
Among the requirements that the texts must have are: from the common introduction for all stories, the author has 100 words to narrate his story. Considering that the story can have less than 100 words, but never more than 100.
Each author may submit a maximum of five stories, which may be signed with a pseudonym, although a name and contact telephone number must always be indicated. Also, the stories will be sent to the address: concursorelatos@lanzarotemedia.net
Regarding the awards of the contest, the winner of the first prize will get a dinner for two at the Castillo de San José restaurant, while the second prize is one of the unusual experiences for two people from the Art, Culture and Tourism Centers of the Cabildo de Lanzarote. Finally, the third prize is a meal for two at the Monumento al Campesino restaurant. All prizes are for adults.
In addition, the decision of the contest will be made public in the second half of September.
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
He closed the newspaper carefully, like someone closing a book with an unexpected ending.
He took a breath with difficulty ..... it's done Alexis, from today we will be one.
He got up from the armchair of that faded bar knowing that it was the last time he would see it.
He left the cafeteria that had seen him so many times blowing on his coffee while plotting uncertain futures.
With the smile of someone who knows himself eternal, he walked slowly towards where all the great literary characters go. Towards the infinite memory of those who once loved as the great Alexis Ravelo wielded the pen.
A character loses his author
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
He rested his sensations and made a first reflection. He did not enter into futile considerations that forced him to think that he would become just another pensioner, stuffed with hardships and without that marginal plus that allowed him to pierce the foundations of a boring and tiresome society, revolting against the weakness of the powerful and swearing a virtual death without waiting to end up in some cemetery with wild planting.
He raised the cup and, by chance, the circular shading of the cortado surrounded the image of Alexis. He smiled, putting a name and face to his next victim. Something was something. Thank you, Alexis!
A character loses his author
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
Eladio learned of his death without knowing that the writer, in addition to writing noir novels, wrote children's stories, tales and among other books: "The Other Life of Ned Blackbird". Poor man, he was a bit Quixote and a bit Sancho Panza. One day, while having coffee in a bar in Las Palmas, he heard a man say: "he loved his wife Thalia, in flesh and blood, so attentive, so sweet, such a true love". He expressed his anger against the world and its tyrannies with fury. How could he not die of a broken heart, if it did not fit in his body!
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
His first reaction was disbelief, only hours ago Alexis had written the scene that was now happening; it was certainly fake news, like so many that were maliciously spread daily through social networks. But suddenly feeling a slight sensation of fainting, he decided just in case to hurry and conclude the investigations that during the last weeks had kept him busy to clarify the murder of the port director. No one could ever accuse him of preventing the seventh novel he starred in from seeing the light!
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
Touched, he continued reading. "His body was found this morning in the bathtub of his home. The causes of his death are unknown."
Silence. A terrifying silence invaded the bar.
- Are you feeling well, Mr. Monroy?
- How do you imagine the death of someone who is found one morning in his bathtub?
The waiter, upset, dared to answer timidly:
- Well, I don't know, sir, but I imagine it must have been a clean death.
- He couldn't have done it any other way - Monroy replied.
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
Eladio shuddered and an unease overwhelmed him. Who would write about him from
now on? Alexis knew more about him than he did himself.
He sat in the same armchair as the deceased, there he imagined thousands of stories that remained to be told. The pages were orphaned. Eladio also died that same
day.
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
His hands were sweating, he felt his head spinning. Maybe his blood pressure was rising. He thought of his pills, luckily he always carried an alprazolam in his wallet. He took it out and took it quickly. Then he had the need to get rid of the murder weapon. It had been an accident!
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
Eladio shuddered and an unease overwhelmed him. Who would write about him from
now on? Alexis knew more about him than he did himself.
He sat in the same armchair as the deceased, there he imagined thousands of stories that remained to be told. The pages were orphaned. Eladio also died that same
day.
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
Eladio left some coins and went out to the boulevard to comfort himself with the humid and salty breeze that rocked the palm trees, the same one that, mercilessly, rusted the bulkheads of the cargo ships where he used to work and covered the rails and cleats with a reddish and rough patina, the one that perhaps had corroded the health of poor Alexis, but had also breathed his genius and inspiration imagining for him, the unhappy Eladio, ingenious plots and sparkling dialogues that now, like the containers pitted by rust, would never be used again.
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
May he rest in peace, he thought. Will I go too? like the ancient servants went with their pharaohs... Will I have a future? A difficult dilemma was posed to him. However, the future is yet to come and we must live the present. I am going to enjoy the moment, surely someone will look for me in some small bookstore.
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
His gaze was lost for a moment, Gloria entered, their eyes met...
- I wanted to tell you...
- Don't say anything, baby, I'll go back to being a debt collector.
His smile tilted, leaving a movement in his scar that seemed to speak for him.
- You know I know how to make a living - he lets out a laugh. In the background of the bar "As Time Goes By" is playing. He is absorbed, lights a cigarette, takes a puff and gets up leaving coins on the table. His raincoat seems to light up. Gloria watches him from the corner of the bar while powdering her nose. She already knows what her next job will be...
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
Eladio fixed the obituary and immediately placed his hand on his shaved head, just as it shone in the light of the establishment's spotlights, turning that cerebral Ithaca into a small island of cardboard stone that would soon be submerged in the well of miseries. He remembered Alexis, thanking him for all the physical and emotional attire he had built for him, with his K, his gangster scar come to less, and that heart that beat for an exiled Ana María. He burst his big body and cursed fate for its capricious roulette game, while launching the last profanity: Shit!
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
With a well-deserved reputation as a tough guy, strangely Eladio was also a well-read person and fond of good literature. Exhibiting great speed of reflexes and without allowing the evidence to confuse him, he said to himself: "If I am a fictional character, as well as this bar, the friends leaning on the bar and the waiter I have just greeted, this newspaper I have in my hands is just as fictitious!". And remembering Dante, who in his descent into hell illuminated literary autofiction, he muttered smiling sideways: "Alexis, I've caught you!
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
He felt a tight knot in his throat, like a tie.
-What a rage! Just now that he was beginning to enjoy getting into trouble with businesses bordering on legality and for some time now reasonably remunerated, now that Gloria had the key to his apartment, now that Chapi's skinny guy and Dudú's good guy had painted the Renault a less annoying color, now that Inspector Déniz was retiring and leaving vacant the honorary title of pain in the ass. Anyway... death is always so untimely and clearly premature!
And he put on a funeral face.
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
Time stopped and a polar cold invaded his body. He remembered having heard others like him say that this used to happen, that parents died and that they remained unchanged, eternal.
He regretted not having talked more with his creator, he lamented his independence and
even his arrogance, he was ashamed of the jealousy that only he was recognized for the success of his own exploits.
Time stopped and he knew that the rest of the days would no longer be filled with new events, that he would live condemned to repeat over and over again what had already been done and he cried.
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
As if all the stones of the pyramid of Cheops fell on his head, he was crushed by an immense anguish and sadness. He had never felt such a sharp pain in his paper chest. He wished to die and travel with his father through the blue and infinite spaces that he would never know.
He got up, left the bar and tried to escape from the journalists and admirers of his creator hiding among the lines of one of his adventures, but the words, cunning and agile, that his father had invented for him, prevented him.
A character loses his author,
Eladio Monroy entered, as almost always, at twelve o'clock, in the Casablanca bar. He ordered a cortado and sat down to read the newspaper. On the cover was the news: The writer Alexis Ravelo has died at the age of 51...
For a second he felt that the world around him was crumbling, that his existence had never been real, but he quickly got over it and regained his composure. As long as there was someone, even if it was just one person, who kept reading and turning the pages... they would stay alive. They were not dead, they were immortal.
