The XVI edition of the Radio Lanzarote 2026 Micro-story contest has already accumulated more than 130 texts sent to the editorial office 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). One more year, the Tourist Centers collaborate with the contest, which opens the 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 among which the phrase we will provide below does not count. All stories will have the same title "...And in the afternoon it rained". From 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 indicate a name and a contact telephone number. Likewise, the stories will be sent to the address: concursorelatos@lanzarotemedia.net.
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 decision 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 decision 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. To date, the following texts have been received:
112) ....And in the afternoon it rained.
In my old and tired heart. Ghosting is what those emotional irresponsibles call it, who without being asked make you a participant in their lives; they invent connections they don't feel; they waste your time creating bonds they don't want, just to feed their poor cowardly ego, seeking validation at any price. For any reason and without need, they break your heart and soul, and then leave without having the courage or respect to say goodbye. I miss the times when we at least took the trouble to say: "Go to hell, ghost."
113) ....And in the afternoon it rained.
And when it stopped, I went up to the roof to collect the laundry, which, logically, had gotten soaked. My son accompanied me. He was carrying the slingshot they had given him for his eighth birthday. And while I was collecting, the boy was busy loading the slingshot and aiming left and right. The poor boy lacked aim. But seeing what I've seen, there's a first time for everything, Mr. Judge. He swears to me that he was aiming at a pigeon and that the downing of the helicopter that suddenly appeared in the sky above the roof was pure chance.
114)....And in the afternoon it rained.
And the waves reached him, soft, kiss-like, and languid, caressing his feet with their lace gloves. Shortly after, he felt the wind move around him with unusual force, the sky filled with black clouds, the waves became furious, and, mad with anger and rage, without the slightest consideration for his old age, they lunged at him, attacking him furiously and savagely, leaving him trembling and dripping with moisture, saltpeter, and foam from every pore. But as he asks himself with monastic resignation, what else can the old Faro de Pechiguera do?
115)....And in the afternoon it rained.
He was born in April, a dry month, although salt on the windows of Arrecife homes was common. Félix grew up among nets and tides, learning that the island could also be written with words. An actor in everyday scenes, he thus became a chronicler of the sea and a guardian of memories. His books speak of the Canarian wind, the returning ships, of the women who always know where and when to be. Brave and generous, he knew how to create his way of being in the world. Today, when it rains in Lanzarote, his story is repeated, whispering softly, they don't forget him.
116)....And in the afternoon it rained.
A symphony on petals and worn stones was recited with gusty wind. A thousand
nights missing an appointment with black clouds that unleashed their fury on mother earth, dancing to the tune of hundreds of birds seeking refuge on the penultimate dry twig. An unusual downpour, brushing bodies exposed to the elements, reduced to being extras in a bland time.
Rain on our consciences, clean, restorative, closing a gray Mahón afternoon that we received with open hands and full hearts. Grateful rain, feinting a thirst that surprised us with dry and wrinkled hands.
117)....And in the afternoon it rained.
600 DROPS. That afternoon it was falling lightly, without making noise. Door to door, it made sure to show its credentials with a light knock, knock, without stirring passions, to a neighborhood that had forgotten what it looked like when it decided to abandon them. Angry, and with dry mouths, they implored its presence forever, bringing a sign of fatal resignation to their gestures.
—Eternal rain, feed us with life!
The inclemency settled on the edge of a dry river, which showed its guts and a weak heart.
—I'm staying, gods of Parnassus.
—May the katabatic winds carry bandages over their eyes, my friend.
She fell asleep.
118)...And in the afternoon it rained.
And I observing the scene from the shore. I feel you everywhere and I know that everything feels you. Because the beach also cries. Desperate with pain, it tries to bathe me in its tears to soothe mine.
And I can almost recognize your silhouette on the Famara mirror at this low tide. As if returning.
But I have waited for hours and you do not arrive. I don't know. Maybe it's been weeks, but I couldn't say how many either.
119) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
Yaiza looked at the scar on her wrist, she had tattooed butterfly wings on both sides to remind herself that one rainy day she slipped and fell on Calle Real, then pain, surgery, and months of rehabilitation, but she managed to transform and take flight again like butterflies. It was raining and Yaiza decided to take her umbrella and return to the place where she fell, she walks determinedly, life taught her to resist, to be patient and a fighter, now she is stronger, now she is not afraid of misfortune, because even if she falls, she knows how to fly like butterflies.
120) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
Lilith woke up, she heard her husband, who was a fisherman, gather his things and go out to sea.
She looked out the window and a diabolical shiver ran from her gut to her ear, turning into a whisper.
- I never liked that saintly man for you.
At three o'clock the first drop fell and at five o'clock the somber sky turned into a deluge.
- Dad, if something happens to him, I will baptize the child I carry in my womb.
And on the horizon, through the mist, a familiar sail appeared.
121) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
I got up as best I could from the sofa and went to the balcony, the afternoon was still gray, the building opposite was indistinguishable and the trees were also moving agitatedly, I had no strength from crying so much, you had left, gone forever and my anguish did not stop growing.
So many things to tell each other, so much to say, so much to live, my soul ached, the day accompanied me.
The sun would never shine the same in my heart, then that inner strength that only you know how to radiate filled me with love.
122) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
She does not return alone from that trip; invisible stowaways accompany her. Her disembarkation occurs under a crying sky that, hours earlier, had bombed the afternoon. The next day, a dark stain on her pillow terrifies her. She goes to the bathroom and screams when she sees it in the mirror. There is the enemy, multiplying in its leafy trench. An itch at the base of her ear ignites her. Trembling, she activates the artillery and, with a fierce attack, neutralizes the invaders. Seeing them fall into the sink, her body regains peace. Victorious, she unplugs the machine: bald, and without a hat, complexes gone! Next boarding…
123) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
In the afternoon it rained coffee. With its bubbles of love it touched our hearts, like a fish that, with its nose, touches the fishbowl of the one with whom it intends to share all night awake. It always had that power, and that July afternoon it proved with its Bilirubin that it still has it, more than enough.
It was a sight to behold. You especially, with how much you liked to dance, I am convinced you would have loved it. Although, on the other hand, it would not surprise me if you had something to do with the fact that on that July afternoon, at least for us, it rained coffee from the sky.
124)...And in the afternoon it rained.
Or so I think... I went outside and asked myself: Are the raindrops hitting me or am I hitting them?
I felt a great emptiness; life went on despite everything. For me everything ended that day, but the world didn't care; even so, I decided to go back inside. I was soaked and felt an internal rain that didn't let me think, that overflowed externally in tears, a rain whose only function was to be what it was, rain.
That afternoon it rained or perhaps it was the mirage of a reality in which it has never stopped raining."
125)...And in the afternoon it rained.
The rain surprised everyone.
People ran to find shelter. He looked for the sky.
He took off his hat and raised his face. A drop crossed his face. Then another.
He didn't move.
The cracks in his hands looked more and more like the cracks in the earth.
For years he had greeted the sky every morning, even when the sky seemed not to answer him.
He opened his hands.
He let the water fill his furrows, those of the earth and his own.
And he smiled.
After so many years of silence, he finally recognized the voice of the sky.
126)...And in the afternoon it rained.
She was the last to leave the cloud.
She had been a wave before learning to fly.
One day, the sun made her light and the wind carried her away.
She rose without a name, learning the language of the clouds.
She was afraid.
She had learned to fly, but no one had taught her to fall.
The cloud let her go and watched her dance in the air.
She descended towards a black island surrounded by blue.
Below, the earth opened its cracks like someone opening their arms, the sea recognized her from afar.
She touched the lava and understood.
She was not falling. She was returning home.
127)...And in the afternoon it rained.
When it started to rain, everyone looked for umbrellas.
The grandfather found one at the back of a closet. His grandson had never seen one open.
“What is it?”
“An umbrella.”
The boy watched as that black fabric grew above their heads.
“What is it for?”
“So the rain doesn't get you wet.”
He thought for a moment.
Then he stepped out from under the umbrella, opened his arms, and raised his face. A drop fell on his tongue.
The grandfather smiled.
The boy too.
“Grandpa…”
“What?”
“If we wanted it to come so much, why don't we let it touch us?”
128). Disqualified 102 words
129)..And in the afternoon it rained.
After the rain, the streets returned what people had forgotten.
A woman found her mother's voice calling her to dinner in a puddle. An old man recovered the taste of his first kiss. A man pulled a childhood laugh out of the water.
The entire city searched among the puddles.
A little girl too.
She put her hands in one, then in another. Nothing.
She looked at the adults embracing songs, aromas, Sundays, promises, dreams.
“Mom, why doesn't the rain give me anything back?”
Her mother bent down and stroked her hair.
“Because you haven't learned to forget yet.”
130) ..And in the afternoon it rained.
Juana lay in the middle of the road, the rain washed away the blood covering her body, her husband had beaten her to death. She had loved him madly, she married in white and now white will be her shroud, he whispered words of love to her under the moon and now screams came out of her mouth, he embraced and kissed her sweetly and now his hands were fists that beat her. Your lover, your murderer. The sun will no longer warm her face, as the cold grave will cover it. Juana rest, now the stars will be your companions.
131) ..And in the afternoon it rained.
We got soaked like sponges. My mother warned us: "Don't go fishing because it's going to rain this afternoon." It was my grandfather's boat that had just been restored, and it had turned out beautifully. We were very excited to try it out again, and the soaking was worth it for the good catch we had.
That night we ate the fish in honor of my grandfather.
132) ..And in the afternoon it rained.
The rain shook, doing somersaults in the air. The beech trees played hide-and-seek with the sessile oak, which protected itself from such a tempest, and with the holly versus agrifolio, which spent its hours conversing with the wandering capercaillie, both claiming their survival in a nature full of paradoxes.
The forest whispered in the ears of its inhabitants the goodness of a story under a diluvian epic, warning about the greasy hands of the unmistakable Perverse Human, expelled from the land of those illustrious inhabitants.
Melanippe's son turned again, while the rain cradled the thousand offspring of an infinite habitat.
133) ..And in the afternoon it rained.
Jules and Julie conspired with everything that a rainy afternoon gifted them, sharing an umbrella, creating sound with the crunch of the key, reconciling bodies, tasting some grilled lamb chops and toasting with the best Grand Cru wine. They chatted about a Proust more concerned with his madeleines than with the vanity of worldly temptations, sweetening desires that needed an ad hoc space to burst destinies in the physical, culinary, and irrational. Sitting around a table, tears on the rain reminded them of the ephemerality of drops, beyond Orion.
134)...And in the afternoon it rained.
His taciturn gesture, halfway between Wayne and Clint Eastwood, was the indicator that it wouldn't be long, without the summer fog clouding his vision.
He never liked the bustle of the disco, the intimacy of the bar would be the best setting to converse at ease. He had put on his best clothes: "You look like a matador," his friend Juan told him; such a date deserved any effort.
The rain marked the indicated time. Without any shame, he took his pen, his hardcover notebook, and accompanied by a steaming cup of jasmine tea, he began to bare his soul.
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