The editorial staff of Radio Lanzarote has already received the first texts for the call for the XIV edition of the Radio Lanzarote Short Story contest Summer 2024. On this occasion, the contest pays tribute to the writer Miguel de Unamuno as it marks the centenary of his exile to Fuerteventura. Unamuno arrived on the island of Majorera on March 10, 1924, and said of it: "These bare hills look like camel humps and the outline of these is cut out on them. It is a camel-like land."
On this occasion, participants must submit a micro-story that must not exceed 100 words, not counting the introductory text that we will provide below. The stories will have the same beginning, which is one of the first sentences of the beginning of his work Niebla: "In this, not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it..." From this beginning, participants must imagine what happens next.
Each author may send a maximum of five stories, which may be signed with a pseudonym, although they must always indicate a name and contact telephone number. Also, the stories will be sent to the address: concursorelatos@lanzarotemedia.net. Once again, the Tourist Centers are collaborating with the contest, whose deadline for sending the texts is next August 31.
A jury composed of journalists from Radio Lanzarote and La Voz de Lanzarote will choose three winning stories and seven finalists. The decision of the contest will be made public in the second half of September. The winner of the first prize will get a dinner for two people in the Jameos del Agua restaurant, while the second prize is one of the unusual experiences for two people in Montañas del Fuego. Finally, the third prize is a brunch in the Cactus Garden. All prizes are for adults.
As the stories are received, they will be published in La Voz de Lanzarote. The name of the author will not appear in the publication. Only after the decision will the names of the winning and finalist authors be known. Short stories continue to arrive at the editorial office for this literary contest:
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In this, not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it. Estela would remember it like that 60 years later when on her deathbed the priest told her "speak now or forever hold your peace"; and what was such a young woman going to say, when capricious memory only treasures what she chooses. What Augusto did not abandon her?, What Augusto loved her?. She could no longer distinguish well between reality and fiction and although she would have liked to invent another ending she was only able to verbalize a disturbed message, which was nothing like what they wanted to hear: "I didn't do it."
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In this, not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it. That's how smelly gentlemen, with muddy teeth and half-lit cigars, used to tell it when sitting in front of a bar they had nothing else to do but invent stories of love and heartbreak. And nothing is more true than that man needs imagination when with reason he is not able to understand; for that was how the village was divided in two. Those who thought that Augusto died for love or those who defended that love died with Augusto.
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In this, not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it. Although, as Estela affirmed, legends are like that, decorated so that they can conquer even the most arid terrains. The young woman was not human. You could see through her, but you never knew if the image she returned to you was real. The young woman that my grandfather talked so much about was his most desired freedom. The one they stole, the one they subordinated to long hours of work, the one that only had the size of a few. My grandfather saw it clearly, he saw how she left, making noise, raising the wind, opening cracks in the ground, but nobody believed him.
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In this, not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it. He was like that, my Augusto, my husband, my friend, the father of my daughters. Passionate but faithful. So faithful that he gave his life for what he thought was a good cause and now... What will become of him if he has nothing left but stubble of memory?. What is left for man, when his memories have been replaced by lagoons that only provide darkness? His eyes... are so similar to the fog, you sense that they hide something, but you can't see what. You won't be able to answer me dear, we have no light left. My husband, my friend...
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In this, not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it. And so, just as the young woman passed, so did life and now, what is left for us?. Swollen hands, crooked back, emaciated sight and silenced hearing. I thought that our generation could be saved! What is left for me more than the after-effects of plowing the land? The young people emigrated, my wife rests in the earth and my grandchildren seem to have forgotten me. What is left for me more than the memory of that beautiful young woman? They knock on the door. I say goodbye, I have to open, once again loneliness.
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In this, not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it he slid his index finger down the screen of the mobile, which he had in his hands, losing all contact with the girl who had enchanted him moments before, the one with the Plastidecor kisses, Milan cream tits, Carioca ass and Alpino pointed nails. He didn't find her anymore nor does he remember who she was because he didn't follow her on the net but...-what does it matter; there are more-. He didn't even consider that the charming young woman could be that girl who passed in front of his own nose.
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In this, not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it, Augusto analyzed her features from this other angle, from below, and where she is no longer seen as so graceful. Eyes of a fifty-year-old, gray hair, glasses to see up close... Suddenly he felt observed by her.
-What are you doing? -she said-.
-Me? Nothing; I'm just looking at this blank page.
-What are you waiting for?
-I'm waiting for you; I want to see what you do and tell it. You live... again.
-Let's finish! I suffered this once in a nivola. Are you going to kill me?
-Augusto, haven't you noticed lately heartbeats near you?
-Yes! What a drag!
-Live, Augusto! Get up! Choose your life. You are free. Free!
Perfection
In this, not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it. Not even Foucault's pendulum itself could dream of oscillations as perfect as those of those hips; not even the best adjusted metronome could approach the impeccable cadence of these heels; nor... Augusto was so immersed in these considerations about feminine perfection that he did not notice the imperfection of the terrain in the form of a stone that obstructed his right foot and forced him to undertake an involuntary race in which he lost balance, dignity and composure. While from the hedges in which he had landed, the man cursed his clumsiness, the young woman moved away in her imperturbable perfection.
Mirage
In this that not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it... After a few meters, she notices and turns abruptly facing him, he, is caught by surprise and disguises as he can calling his dog Orfeo, arguing to the stranger, that he is looking for him for hours.
-Miss, have you seen a cinnamon-colored dog that looks lost?
-Well, no! -she replied- but are you sure he got lost? Or is he rather looking for a home in which his companion is more sane?
The answer left Augusto speechless, thus ceasing his persecution. The young woman slowly faded into the air and disappeared...
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In this, not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it, Augusto decided that this was the best moment to carry out his greatest fantasy, which was none other than to possess the one he believed had challenged, humiliated and conditioned him so many years ago to the point that his thoughts revolved around death on eternal occasions. He took advantage of the darkness, pouncing on her, stripping her of her clothing, and trying to consummate what he knew was improper of the situation. She, a strong and robust woman, was not easy prey and, using a 19th century knife, she embedded it in his abdomen, causing Augusto to wake up from his horrible nightmare and with a pain in his lower abdomen, difficult to explain.
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In this, not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it, Augusto approached the night, groping, unnoticed so as not to disturb the peace of the moment when he looked at her. From the semi-deserted street, a sigh is appreciated and Augusto sharpens his ear sure he is, that he is not alone, is what he thinks at that moment; and like a mantra of centuries an unfathomable routine takes hold of him and invades him dulling his senses no, I will not be carried away by external agents While, the wind deafens the rest of the plain. Seventy, fifty, forty-six perhaps. The notion of time does it surpass me?.
- Good evening your mercy... - The villager reveals himself.
The song of the bird
In this, not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it... he took her by the arm making her turn abruptly. He did not perceive any anger in her gaze, and he was encouraged... he took her away from there. Together they ran through the white sand, near the turquoise waters. Augusto backed away, he esteemed his shoes too much to spoil them with the salt water. A palm tree called them in the distance. He squeezed her against its trunk. He tasted her sweet and soft lips, flirted with her tight dunes, did not dare to reach her cliffs. A little bird chirped insistently, it was happy, it sang its joy. When she left, Augusto hated the song of the bird.
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He managed to pay his respects and, overcoming his natural shyness, invited her for an ice cream. That same week they saw each other three more times. He decided to tell his widowed father, who, suddenly altered, reacted with these words: "Filomena, did you say? Let me guess: she has one green eye and the other brown. The first time you fall in love and you had to go and notice her precisely. The same adorable young woman who yesterday, a sea of tears, confessed to me that she sees no future in our relationship because a boy has stolen her heart!"
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In this, not a dog, but a charming young woman, passed by in the street, and Augusto went after her eyes, as if magnetized and without realizing it, Augusto. Night was falling, she sits, while the fog grows on the mountain. Letting her hair loose, flying flies that the wind leaves, I approached to see her better until her wart appeared.
