The XVI edition of the Radio Lanzarote 2026 Micro-story contest has received a total of 178 texts sent to 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 opened the submission period on July 1, 2026, and remained open until August 31, both inclusive.
On this occasion, participants had to submit a micro-story that did not exceed 100 words, not counting the phrase we will provide below. All stories have the same title "...And in the afternoon it rained." Based on this title, participants must imagine what happens next.
Each author could submit a maximum of five stories, which could be signed with a pseudonym, although they had to always provide a name and a contact phone number. Likewise, the stories were sent to the address: concursorelatos@lanzarotemedia.net.
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. The latest texts received are as follows:
135)...And in the afternoon it rained.
I waited by the road as the car drove away, not understanding why they left me alone.
The rain erased the smell of home. I took shelter under a rock and a drop ran down my face. It was different: it came from my eyes.
I didn't know that pain got you wet.
I looked at the sky. It was still crying. Maybe it felt lost.
I hugged my legs with my tail and purred. The sky seemed to hear me: it stopped roaring, lowered its voice, and stayed.
In the distance, the thunder murmured as the drops learned my language.
And I understood that the sky also knew how to purr.
136) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
For years she believed that rain was her enemy.
It reminded her of that night: hands that should not have touched her and her own voice learning to disappear.
Then came the silences. The too-long showers. The fear of being alone. The guilt, even though it was never hers.
Until one day it rained again.
She stood still by the window.
She let the water hit the glass, took a deep breath and, for the first time, said aloud:
—It wasn't my fault.
And then she understood that some storms don't come to get you wet.
They come to take away what you no longer need to hide.
138)...And in the afternoon it rained.
The man went out into the yard with a shovel.
—What are you doing? —asked his granddaughter.
—I'm looking for the island.
The girl laughed.
—Grandpa, Lanzarote is here!
He kept digging.
He had been born when the land still seemed endless. He remembered the fields, the cisterns, his parents' black hands, and a horizon without hotels.
He pulled a wet stone from the ground and handed it to her.
—Keep it.
—What for?
The old man looked at the sea.
—So that, when someone asks where the island we knew was, you can show it to them.
139)...And in the afternoon it rained.
Old Tomás went out into the yard with a bucket.
—Finally! —he shouted.
The neighbors peeked out their windows. No one understood his joy. Tomás placed the bucket under the gutter and waited.
When it was full, he went inside, closed the doors, and stored the water in a bottle.
—What for? —asked his granddaughter.
Tomás smiled.
—For when it rains again.
The girl laughed.
—But Grandpa, it always rains again here.
He looked towards Timanfaya, then at the sky.
—That's what your great-grandfather used to say.
And he capped the bottle.
It was the last one left.
140)...And in the afternoon it rained.
The old man had been waiting forty years for that afternoon.
Every morning he went out into the yard, looked at the sky, and went back inside.
His wife would tease him:
—It will rain someday. Don't be in such a hurry.
She died first.
He kept waiting.
When the first drops finally fell, he went out barefoot. He opened the cistern, removed the lid, and listened.
There was no water. There was a voice.
—You can stop waiting for me now.
The old man smiled.
He closed the cistern, sat down next to it, and looked at the sky.
Then he understood that he hadn't waited forty years for it to rain.
He had waited forty years to hear her.
141)...And in the afternoon it rained.
That's what my grandmother Lola always said when she told the story of the day I was born. I listened to her attentively, not daring to even blink, for fear she would discover that I had known it by heart for years. I looked at her intently, captivated by the love she conveyed to me, which I could almost touch. I haven't experienced that feeling of being protected from everything and everyone since the day she left. That imaginary memory of the rain hitting the window while the cry of a newborn is heard fills me with peace.
142) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
Karim clasped the photograph of his parents between his arms as the barge slid between enormous waves heading for Lanzarote. The sea beat furiously, reminding him that death accompanied them.
He had sold the little he had to try and change his family's fortune. It wasn't that he dreamed of riches, but of a decent job, a safe roof, and enough money to send home.
He saw land and wept in silence. He knew that surviving was only the first step. The truly difficult part would be proving that behind every immigrant there is also a heart full of hope.
143)...And in the afternoon it rained.
After so many years apart, I could finally show my lips to the rain goddess, feeling her moist pulse. I waited for her at the second-to-last train station, remembering her in all her splendor, how she shone without shine upon my grateful body. One day she told me she was leaving, that our love could not be eternal, and that she would return someday to keep giving me drops of affection.
My beloved rain has returned. On the platform of wishes, looking into her eyes, sweet poetic deluge, we promise each other fidelity, while the drops left by our love slide down the train windows.
144) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
I watched two little drops cling to the back of my hand. And I felt it, with the same subtlety of a viper sinking its fangs into the skin. There was no time for idleness. Nor could I beg for mercy. I just remained still. Petrified. Waiting until the memories stopped hurting.
Now I hold a photograph of a woman hugging me. Her eyes wander, searching for mine. The back reads: "Never forget me."
I smile sadly; I don't remember her name. Nor her voice.
I keep the photograph with other unknown faces, and whisper meekly:
"I hope it rains again tomorrow; there are too many memories left to erase."
145)...And in the afternoon it rained.
But the drops were not hitting the cobblestones, nor getting stuck in the crevices, forming small puddles. Nor were they drumming on the brass finials that adorned the ancient lampposts.
Something had changed.
They sprang from the ground, lazily, like crystalline roots, and climbed until they disappeared into a smooth sky. Clear. The petrichor wandered; a yellowish smell of rotten flowers was masked under an atmosphere as condensed as it was bitter. And the mist became so dense that I felt my feet lift off the ground.
The rain was silent, rocked by an antagonistic breeze.
That was the first time I saw it rain towards the sky.
146)...And in the afternoon it rained.
Why do I remain here?
Of all breathing beings, there is none more stubborn than man.
He fantasizes about destinies that were already spun, as if something granted him the gift of providence. Capable of facing idleness when he keeps his heart set on desire. On the eyes of others.
Perhaps that is why I remain firmly tied to the cobblestones, hoping that yellow umbrella will reappear at the end of the alley, and when the sky tightens even more, she will find my withered little eyes, watching her from the other side.
Hoping that, someday, she will remember me too.
147)...And in the afternoon it rained.
No one turned back; those who looked with astonishment, now do so with a hint of pity in their gaze. The umbrella was open when I left the doorway, and as soon as the light caressed my cheeks, the rain fell upon me.
Only upon me.
It is frustrating; the cold, the dampness, have left me famished. Satiated. With worn-out bones. And an incessant sizzling penetrates my ears and hollows out amidst so much calm. But soon I learned to wander in the ordinary; lilies bloom as I pass, dragonflies still their fluttering, and even puddles seem to hold a piece of the sky.
148)...And in the afternoon it rained.
But the drops did not hit the glass. Nor did the clouds turn a dull gray. It was raining from within.
The lament materialized like an ill-fated lightning bolt, shattering the silence in a piercing roar. Heart-rending. A harbinger of the sudden misfortune that unleashes the storm.
Sorrowful drops slid down the cornices, turning into puddles of bitter nostalgia. The waters ran down the slopes, and the dry riverbeds, accustomed to daily stillness, were devastated by a wild current. Wrathful. Voracious. Sweeping away everything that remained inside.
And so, one rainy afternoon, I understood that it was not the sky that was crying.
149)...And in the afternoon it rained.
Gara began to hear a song: Let it rain, let it rain the Virgin of the Cave..... It was her mother Nieves, who was singing, the damned Alzheimer's had taken hold of her and her memories had flown away, who knows where. Gara ran to her and hugged her tightly. The sound of the rain had awakened the song dormant in a corner of her memory. Gara, moved, took her hands and together they continued singing: The little birds sing, the clouds rise..... That rainy afternoon, Nieves' soul sang, not from reason, but from the depths of her heart.
150) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
I had never seen it rain. She always smiled when you saw her pass by. She went everywhere with her purse, an emerald purse that shone as much as she did. Even lying in bed drinking from that bottle, she shone. The sun began to set, its reflection on the coast was no longer so brilliant. The morning was not warm, a breeze had risen: But today is June, how strange, right? I went to look for her but all I found was her emerald purse, now dull, opaque, dark. I had never seen it rain... And in the afternoon it rained.
151) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
We used to sing until dusk, now I only see your shadow disappear. You got annoyed because you wanted to leave and I didn't want to stop seeing you. Silly things are what you get angry about and even so, while your world was falling apart, I held it up, I used my own steps to rebuild what you yourself were demolishing. Telling your people that I am foolish, a child; that I was never interested in you and that the fault is always mine.
A storm has arrived, it hasn't stopped raining while I write. It's raining so hard I can't see. I don't want to see you again.
152) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
The drizzle added nothing new to faces wet with tears. Nor did it alter the rhythm of those lines of grieving ants, hypnotized by the song of Charon, who waited patiently for the arrival of the deceased, to settle the debt incurred by the mere fact of living.
-If he charges more for the good times than for the bad, we'll have to take out a loan for this man, his brother laughed, so skilled with humor that it caresses sorrows.
-I think Félix doesn't pay. To pay, you have to die. How does someone die who will never stop being named?
153) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
Water ran down walls that had been white, leaving a vertical trail of a haze that didn't quite go away.
And meanwhile, I peeled and chopped onions, finely. Preparing a sofrito had become a refuge for crying, without having to answer an interrogation about why the white of my eye was no longer white either, but red.
When my sorrow spilled over without being able to tame it, I would take out the cutting board and the knife and improvise the menu. It was one of the few things I could choose.
I hope it rains hard and cleans the earth, first.
And the sorrow, afterwards.
154) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
Idaira closed the umbrella and went to work in the laundry room, she greeted her colleagues and opened the washing machine, when she took out the clothes something fell, Idaira picked it up and screamed, it was a finger!!! they all rushed over and shrieked when they saw it, Raquel the housekeeper wrapped it up and took it to the police station, the policeman opened the wrapping and the finger stood up, making a grotesque gesture, it was a joke finger, who knows who put it there, but now surely they would be laughing their heads off, it was December 28th, the Day of the Innocents.
155) ...And it rained in the afternoon.
The drizzle fell at the feet of Blas Santana. He looked for shelter with his eyes, but could not see through the fog. His skin prickled, more from the memory of the previous year than from the timid horizon. "Lanzarote? To be dyed green... Enough of babiecar! It was the floods that burst into our homes and streets," he told me with shining eyes. Blas Santana had witnessed the fall of his home's wall and the roads were impassable for weeks. That evening, despite the contrast with the fine rain, he was transported to the past.
156)...And it rained in the afternoon
The raindrops remained briefly on the arid land of Lanzarote. Rain was once scarce on the island. Everything has taken a turn since then. Climate change haunts our archipelago. There has been no year in which the complaints have been more abundant than this one, coming from outsiders, who had been sold sun and beach. However, the locals marveled at the greenness of the volcanoes and the sandy areas covered with a blanket of grass and wild flora. Some missed the unmistakable roughness of our land, but they surely took the opportunity to delight their senses.
157)...And it rained in the afternoon.
It was a rain of strange drops. A creaking shook the ground and it seemed as if even the flowers had been ironed and turned into herbarium plants. Everywhere, the water rose and ascended to the sky, as if it wanted to escape and rise to other worlds.
Without anyone knowing how, the ancient hydrosphere went its way and the Moon and the nearest planets were immediately flooded.
An elderly ophthalmologist was the only one to notice and define the problem: it is undoubtedly the tears of the planet.
158)...And it rained in the afternoon.
It was the signal. We cast off the moorings and closed the gates. The rain fell in such a way that within a week we were already floating above the height of the tallest trees. With two members of each of the species of all the fauna existing on the face of what was ceasing to be Earth, you can imagine what we went through in there. —I took one last drag and passed it to him—. That was a real downpour.
Fuck, man. What a story. —He grabbed the lighter and lit it again.
159) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
It was one of those sudden summer storms that announce that something bad is going to happen. And it was still suffocatingly hot. That's why I still can't find any explanation for the fact that, out of the blue, the shopkeeper told me with a completely straight face that the fucking ice cream fridge was broken, that he was very sorry and that he could do nothing.
As I said, that was Friday afternoon, on my way back from work. After reading the note Fayna had left.
160) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
A deluge fell. This caused the enemy to retreat, giving us a small respite.
We weren't that foolish. We knew it would be a matter of hours or days at most. We took shelter, lit a fire, threw on some branches, and talked at length about the matter. Manolo argued that it was in our hands to decide how to end it all, that if they caught us they would do terrible things to us. I refused, but that man of little faith... on that March thirtieth of '39, he put one of the few bullets we had left in the drum and, visibly exhausted, said that was enough.
161) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
Thunder sounded. The sea began to get rough.
—Clyde! My... my... look at that... —Bonnie stammered, pointing to the water.
Three fins were approaching the boat. Oar in hand, they fought the first assaults uselessly. In a desperate attempt to distract them, Clyde got rid of the loot by throwing that school of fish overboard. The sharks didn't even flinch.
The boat soon gave way and began to flood. Bonnie rushed to hug Clyde tightly, who, sitting with a lost gaze, thought about the consequences of stealing from the sea.
—Poseidon..., let it be quick —he begged with his eyes closed.
It thundered again.
162) ...And in the afternoon it rained.
It was their last night before the exam. He got up early and, in advance, arrived at the institute. Hundreds of applicants milled about the hallways. Sandro looked distressed. An old acquaintance, seeing him like that, approached and said:
—It seems we share a surname, perhaps we are distant family.
That jocular comment eased his nervousness. They were potential rivals, although also fellow candidates. Joaquín, his new friend, gave him some advice:
—Write with small letters. That way you'll write more pages.
Sandro took note and they wished each other luck. The drawing of lots for the topics began. This time things looked good…
163) ... And in the afternoon it rained.
Escape. As from the ship that was supposed to take me to safe harbor, I watched the end of the irate sea, which devoured the horizon, the sovereign weeping emanating from a wounded sky forced me to be silent and listen. Its drops lashed with fury the rotten wood of a ship pushed towards oblivion, dragging me towards my own abyss. That severe rain, like a judge, ordered me to return; in unison, in the depths, the complicit ocean roared furiously, claiming the price of my escape.
164) ... And in the afternoon it rained.
The storm's orchestraThe drums beat hard on the horizon, in an uneven echo, announcing the grand spectacle. The golden light of the sky sang and quickly went out. The wind joined in, moving its invisible fingers to mark the rhythm. Dressed in dark, the clouds danced as the rain released its musical strings onto the damp earth. The storm's orchestra continued to play.
Behind the mountain, the moon took refuge, confused, and then shyly peeked out to contemplate that beautiful frenzy.
165) ... And in the afternoon it rained.
And to think that in Arrecife for a long time we only had the company of the heat that cracked the stones.
That afternoon was different.
We saw ourselves collecting clothes from the rooftop, closing the windows, and pressing our foreheads against the glass to see, in August, it raining like never before.
The water came to remind us that there is always a parenthesis, a comma, a dash, that makes us get up from where we are, and get some air, that we need the water to refresh our faces from time to time...
Now all we need is shade.
166) ... And in the afternoon it rained.
And it started and it didn't stop raining. And that ball of molten rock, still incandescent, cooled down and the water, which was falling, formed seas. Then, in the water, a spark became life. First simple, then superior. Then community, then concrete, later prodigious silicon... and robotization... and denial... and arrogance and... MADNESS. Then, little by little, it stopped raining, and throats dried up, and green was no longer the color; now everything was ochre.
And finally the last cell necrotized. And one afternoon, that land became incandescent again.
167)... And in the afternoon it rained.
The wind played its symphony that rainy afternoon, Mrs. Argelia grabbed her small backpack and her round hat, while she prepared a little coffee with Barranquilla aroma.
For some time, Don Jorge had promised to take her on his sailboat to the shoe island that could be seen through the window. Although they both knew that nothing more than a meeting of glances in a long corridor would happen, he had planned the journey from the black sand beach.
“Will you give me a minute?” she said. “We'll continue talking tomorrow, it's time for your medicine.”
168)... And in the afternoon it rained.
Yes, but let's go back to that morning, when the sun was beating down from above and there was no hope left, when dry mouths screamed desperately, the earth burned split in two and you looked at me scared. Then you asked: Does this madness make sense? I just said: I don't know, but we have to keep going; if we deserve a future, we have to get there. Exhausted, we continued advancing, one leaning on the other, almost dragging ourselves. And with faith lost, looking into each other's eyes, as the sun began to set, a drop reflected in your pupil... and just then it started to rain.
169)... And in the afternoon it rained.
–And in the afternoon it rained! He asserted with a grave gesture, looking him in the eyes. Not a shred of trembling in his words. He calmly recounted to the judge the events of that fateful day. There was no doubt that he remembered it clearly, that he had engraved every last detail. And it was that, falsely, they had accused him months ago of having broken into the cellar to steal.
So, without flinching, with the truth as his banner, he detailed everything he did that day from the moment he got up until noon, and the reason why he didn't go out afterwards.
171)... And in the afternoon it rained.
It rained without warning, it rained without a drizzle to announce it, it just fell with determination, with rage, with force.
And it chilled me, the cold got into me, the water soaked me, the force of that rain shook me. And
I felt, I felt rage for leaving like the rain arrived, without prior notice.
I cried, because I noticed it, I noticed that contained pain, for leaving me, for not finding my place, for keeping myself afloat without you. It wasn't your fault, nor your decision, but you are no longer here.
It rained and I felt free, free to scream.
172)... And in the afternoon it rained.
That was my chance, the rain would cover my tracks, and I would have a chance.
They were following me as if I were prey for about half an hour, my strength was failing, I was going slower and slower, covering my tracks and running had me exhausted.
But this rain would help cover my scent, the dogs wouldn't find me and those men wouldn't find me.
That's what I thought as I slipped between the trees, going from hunter to prey.
173)... And in the afternoon it rained.
It surprised us as we walked through the quiet streets of San Bartolomé, we were heading to the Casa Mayor Guerra, on the outskirts of town.
We had no shelter, he grabbed my hand, leaving the conversation hanging by a thread, we ran and laughed like children.
We arrived at our destination wet, but alive, contrasting with what we found.
A house open to the public, without a public. The silence broken by the rain.
The place was eerie and beautiful, outside life continued and modernized, but inside a children's room with its crib remained waiting for another sprout.
174)... And in the afternoon it rained.
And also at night, and the next day. And the day after that. Always.
Sometimes it rained softly, like a caress upon waking. And other times heavily. One day it even seemed to stop raining, and she opened the window... but the rain was still there.
And she wished it would stop raining. And she also wished the rain would intensify and flood everything at last.
Sometimes it rained acid. And other times sweet, like a goodnight kiss.
The morning dawned sunny. Radiant. Later they went to the park. Later, a car. She was able to hug his inert little body.
175)... And in the afternoon it rained.
And in the afternoon it rained like afternoons in solitude rain, with that fine rain that pierces the body and cuts like an ivory dagger the most painful wait, the wait for the torrential rain that floods the soul and with a unleashed torrent waters all that we love and leave behind, all that the afternoon rain left.
176) ... And in the afternoon it rained.
And in the afternoon it rained as it rains every afternoon, with a rain of tears that appears at dawn with the intermittent cadence of the night's lament that abandons the dark grief of dawn and brings from the horizon a new rain that happily and vigorously waters the land that saw us born.
177) ... And in the afternoon it rained.
Like that?
Just like that?
Without even a see you next time?
I wasn't expecting an explanation either.
Maybe, if you had told me, I would have accompanied you for a little while,” at least.
More than anything to accompany you on your way..
But..
I know. I know.. You wanted to do it alone.
After all, time is yours.
I turn on the light. That's all I could do with you. To turn on lights, that's what you taught me. If I see light, you are there. I see your smile! With aromas of my broken soul.
Unwanted silences. It was April. The sky was gray. And in the afternoon it rained.
178)... And in the afternoon it rained.
“La Señora Blanca” watered the death of its author. “El Mundo de Piedra” fell at his feet by its own weight. No one supported it anymore. Meanwhile, watery sobs rolled down “Los Montes Claros,” improper for the latitude.
In the end, “La Noche Mágica” enveloped his soul in the form of a bird, back to the origin.
By dawn, Tyterogaka had ceased to be the same.
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