The Radio Lanzarote micro-story contest already exceeds fifty

Texts from the call for entries for the XVI edition of the Radio Lanzarote 2026 Micro-story Contest continue to arrive at the newsroom of La Voz de Lanzarote and Radio Lanzarote-Onda Cero. The contest, which began this past July 1st, pays tribute to the Lanzarote painter, essayist, narrator, playwright, and cultural manager Félix Hormiga (1951-2025).

Once again, the Tourist Centers are collaborating with the contest, which opens the submission period this Wednesday, July 1, 2026 until August 31, both inclusive.

On this occasion, participants must submit a micro-story that must not exceed 100 words not including the phrase we will provide below. All stories will have the same title "...And in the afternoon it rained." Based on this title, participants must imagine what happens next.

Each author may send a maximum of five stories, which they may sign with a pseudonym, although they must always provide a name and a contact telephone number. Likewise, the stories should be sent to the address: [email protected].

As the stories are received, they will be published in La Voz de Lanzarote. The author's name will not appear in the publication. Only after the verdict will the names of the winning and finalist authors be known.

A jury composed of journalists from Radio Lanzarote and La Voz de Lanzarote will choose three winning stories and seven finalists. The verdict of the contest will be made public in the second half of September.

This year, the original numbering of the texts will be maintained, also taking into account those that have been disqualified. So far, the following texts have been received:

27) And in the afternoon it rained.

And Fayna was left without a park.

To entertain herself, she hid her mother's purse in the storage room of her little house.

When the lady noticed, she looked for it everywhere. Fayna, seeing her mommy's distress grow by the moment, decided to confess. Then her mother dragged her to the sofa where she laid her face up to hit her on the face and thighs. Tears prevented the girl from seeing clearly; however, she could hear the rain, pushed by the trade winds, hitting the window. Fayna cursed every drop of that rain for having ruined her afternoon.

28) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

In the morning we buried my grandfather under a sky so clear it seemed disrespectful. No one cried. He always said that tears should be saved for real goodbyes. Upon returning, the first drops hit the windshield. My grandmother smiled for the first time all day. "Now yes," she murmured. "He knows we've arrived home."

(This micro-story is in honor of my grandfather, Francisco Bethencourt “Paco” from Arencibia, we miss you every day)

29) …And in the afternoon it rained

All morning I waited for him to come back.

The door remained ajar, the coffee grew cold, and silence occupied his chair. Neighbors came in, petted me, and left without saying anything. Someone closed the blinds. Then I understood that he would never return. I snuggled up by his slippers, which still smelled like home. And in the afternoon it rained. No one noticed that the only one who kept waiting for him was me, his dog.

(And this one in honor of my little dog Chispita, 7 years without you, and the house still feels empty).

30) …And in the afternoon it rained.

My grandparents were no longer here. My mother didn't always remember my name, and my father had a whole life on his shoulders.

In the afternoon it rained, and I was no longer 10 years old. What I thought my life would be transformed over time.

My grandmother left that day and I felt absolutely fortunate for every moment we had, I hugged my mother, happy to still have her.

Life never brings only losses or only joys. One gives meaning to the other. Therein lies its beauty: embracing both while we still can.

31) …And in the afternoon it rained.

You and I danced together, a child watched us from the window. And an elderly couple pointed at us, sheltered.

In the afternoon it rained but we were together and it still felt like summer.

I think it's Wednesday, but I hadn't remembered until now, this week felt like many Mondays, or so I felt.

But being with you feels like Saturday, no matter what the calendar says.

32) …And in the afternoon it rained.

I've always liked watching the rain on the glass, maybe with a coffee in hand and you by my side.

And in the afternoon it rained, but I couldn't see the glass through my tears, I didn't have

the strength to make myself a coffee and you were no longer here.

33) …And in the afternoon it rained.

And in the afternoon it rained, Mom. And now my house was no longer yours, now I had another place to call home, where I was not the daughter.

And sometimes, I would like to run back into your arms, to feel again that you can handle everything and that I can break without anything happening.

Sometimes Mom I miss you and I would like to go back. And other times, I feel

proud to be creating a new safe place, a new family, and a new life

thanks to you.

34) ...And in the afternoon it rained. Disqualified 101 words

35) ...And in the afternoon it rained. Disqualified 107 words

36) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

The old man planted a seed in the dry earth and everyone smiled pityingly. "It won't grow," they said. He just replied, "You have to trust." The sun burned for hours and the field remained thirsty. When the sky began to darken, the neighbors closed their windows. Then the miracle happened: ...And in the afternoon it rained. The next morning, a small green sprout peeked through the mud. From that day on, the village learned that hope is also watered with patience.

37) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

When the doctor told him he had only a few days left to live, Mateo returned to the tree he had planted with his wife fifty years earlier. He sat under its dry branches and remembered every smile, every hug, and every shared silence. He looked up at the sky and whispered, "Thank you for everything." The first drops began to fall on his face. He smiled like a child. No one knew if the old man or the sky was crying. ...And in the afternoon it rained.

38) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

My tears, wobbling on my cheeks, spilled like a salty tide on my lips. I was short of breath; the tangible vanished and the world became a distant whisper.

The clouds, suddenly, released a fine drizzle, which caressed my face. The sky shared my sadness and by diluting my tears with its drops, it offered me relief. It's true, nothing will erase the fact that you are no longer here... but I promise to keep your memories alive, even though the void you left still tears my insides.

39) ...And in the afternoon it rained Disqualified 104 words

40) ...And in the afternoon it rained Disqualified 109 words

41) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

The day you arrived was the best of gifts. Holding you in my hands, that clean smell that the storm brought revealed that you are the fruit of proud parents. Between rain and silence I look at you, letting my mind tell stories where your crying turns into drama, laughter into comedy, danger into adventures, and your anger into theatrical whims...

Night falls, I take you from the sofa to dream. When I wake up I don't see you; half asleep I look for you in the living room, I return to the bedroom and smile: my book sleeps under the bed.

42) …And in the afternoon it rained.

A mist appeared above me, erasing all illusion. It didn't let the sun be seen. It suddenly killed my desires. Face to face with reality. Drops of rain marking a dance, a free fall. Finally, my tears flowed without restraint. I was the only one to blame for having held them back for so long, making them believe that everything was fine. Idealizing a future. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to undo what might have been just a bad dream. I opened them again, full of hope. But no. In the afternoon it rained on my head. Inside my heart, the sun kept shining.

43) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

And the little boats in the Charco de San Ginés began to sway to a different rhythm, under the patter of water falling on them.

Sitting in the corner café, she watched the drops clean the dust of the calima from the windows and smiled melancholically.

She remembered that this sudden and unexpected rain was the same one that, three decades ago, forced her to take shelter under a doorway, where he, with a nervous smile and an umbrella broken by the wind, offered her to share a piece of roof and, without knowing it, the beginning of a lifetime.

44) .... And in the afternoon it rained.

With a lost gaze, I wandered hesitantly, a perfect sunset, a watercolor of infinite colors on a blue canvas on the horizon. Something was disturbing me, she, hidden behind the majestic, gray, and silent San Gabriel, trying to join the spectacle, with uneven shapes she struggled not to spoil it, she tried but couldn't. Drops slipped from her clouds, overflowing with rage and almost unintentionally erased the landscape, revealing her hiding place, her fortress, her trench, and then, it rained and in the afternoon it rained.

45) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

And that moment would become a legend between them. Because it was then that they decided to stay up late, not to get up early, to connect, to be constantly in tune, and it would be the best memory of a life journey of two beings who know each other, understand each other, and who seemed destined to love each other beyond time.

There are years in which nothing happens and rainy afternoons in which decades happen.

40 years have passed since that afternoon, and yet the person you love must be told "I love you" every day, even if it keeps raining.

46) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

And he looked at me, making my body shiver, wet by the drops falling from a dark sky.

I felt my being light up, despite the celestial ash, and my insides throb, meeting the already distant gaze that disappeared on the horizon, leaving a present and eternal mark in the very center of my soul, and in the heart of my life.

47)...And in the afternoon it rained.

Not with haste, nor pause, simply the sky was sending me its message. After he left, nothing else mattered. His last words hit me from the inside, because that's how goodbyes are, at least the ones that hurt.

And I, wondering what I was going to do with my life, watch the drops fall and can't help but feel like the ground, while the incessant water dominates it without mercy.

Waiting for it to end, I think, unaware of myself, that perhaps when the rain stops my agony will end, because, when the sun comes out, I will have another chance. The water will cease, the rest will not.

48) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

In the hallway café of the Boulevard, his friends occupied their usual table, but they left Félix's chair empty. The waitress, out of habit, placed a steaming coffee there. No one said anything.

On the table rested one of his books, open to a page that spoke of the sea.

Outside, water ran down the sidewalks and flooded the roads, as if Arrecife, unaccustomed to rain, also didn't know how to contain its tears.

Inside, the coffee maker hissed and a page moved slowly.

He wasn't in the chair. He was still in his letters.

49) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

Three days later, Los Valles seemed like another place. The dark earth, so accustomed to the sun, had woken up covered in a tender green, dotted with tiny lilac flowers. Cars slowed down and people stopped to look, as if the island had finally opened a secret room.

He parked by the road and offered her his hand.

—I promised you a meadow in Lanzarote.

She laughed and began to walk slowly through the damp grass.

There was no ring.

Only that grateful land blooming around the two of them.

And it was enough.

50) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

When the rain stopped, the soldier patrolled the perimeter of Peñas del Chache. Under her boots, the dark earth gave off a smell that lasts very little in Lanzarote: wet earth. The white radome continued to watch the sky as the clouds began to open.

—No incidents —she reported over the radio.

Then she saw it: a tiny green shoot, pushing its way through next to the wire fence.

He crouched down and shielded him from the wind with his hand. He had spent years watching the sky, but that afternoon he understood that miracles could also happen at his feet.

—I stand corrected —he whispered—. There is life.

51) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

After the downpour, the Playa Honda promenade was filled with mirrors. Two

brothers competed to jump over the largest puddle while their grandmother pretended to scold them. In one, the sea, a cloud, and a plane descending towards Guacimeta could be seen.

—Now! —shouted the little one.

They jumped at the same time. The plane broke into a thousand ripples, and the smell of saltpeter mixed with their laughter. The grandmother left her umbrella on a bench and jumped with them.

It had been forty years since anyone had called her a child.

52) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

At dusk, the gutters continued to carry water to the cistern. Each splash against the bottom sounded like a name. Clara lifted the lid and inhaled the smell of damp lime, cold stone, and an old house. Her grandmother used to say that water held what no one dared to say.

She took the letter intended for her sister out of her pocket and read the first line:

«Forgive me».

The echo returned it to her, softer.

Then the phone rang.

—I don't know why —her sister said from the other island—, but I felt you were calling.

Clara looked at the water.

This time she answered.

53) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

The day began quietly with the smell of loneliness.

I look at the sky in silence, I let my dreams travel.

I hear your laughter in the wind that wants to return.

The clouds cover mountains, and a strong downpour lashes the windows.

I close my eyes and begin to listen to the murmur of the water.

Among the shadows, the whistling of the wind pronounces my name, wanting to speak to me.

Some loves come to teach and then leave.

54) ...And in the afternoon it rained.

Stretching the transgressive idea of imagining our home as a pleasant island sailing on oceans free of strange debris; awakening the rebellious desire to arrive at lands scarce in wicked corsairs, and therefore, abundant in honest scientists and poets; urging the need to paint cobwebs that trap those who, by corporate decree, assure that much money is lost sleeping, thinking, or healing; stirring the impulse, now irrepressible, to become good-natured ogres, as skilled at dismantling without batting an eye lies, hypocrisies, and greed... as at flying kites on beaches free of cigarette butts, surrounded by dogs and children.