The Radio Lanzarote-Onda Cero short story contest has closed with more than a hundred stories that have been received in this XII edition that pays tribute to the fiftieth anniversary of Radio Lanzarote.
The stories will be read in the "Reading on the Radio" section of Radio Lanzarote (90.7), and published in La Voz de Lanzarote. Both the publication and the reading will be subject to the availability of space and time of both media.
The decision of the contest, which will be made public in the second half of September, will be made by a jury made up of journalists from Radio Lanzarote-Onda Cero and La Voz de Lanzarote, who will choose three winning stories and seven finalists.
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.
Birthday
Half a century on the blue planet. And every year, I understand less. I miss seeing the world through those eyes. My childhood memories fade with time. It's time to conquer those dreams. I listen to my heart. As a child, I could see the magic. The senses were transformed, the perception of things too. But the magic, like the memories, faded with the passage of time. I try to shield myself in the value of experience. But each time, I understand less. Time to conquer those dreams. The radio gives me the opportunity.
The date
I still remember our first date. We were in your brother's car on the way to the cinema. I was nervous. I know you were too because you were tapping the steering wheel with your long, thin fingers while smiling at me. You looked at me and told me that the song playing on the radio was your favorite. I will never forget it because from that day on it also became mine. I still remember our first and last date. We were in your brother's car on the way to the cinema. Our favorite song was playing. The only thing of ours that will accompany me eternally.
Grandmother
My grandmother told me that when she was little she used to play jumping over the stones near the threshing floor. She explained to me that she was always restless and that her mother used to get angry with her and punish her by sending her to clean the floors of the house. She also told me that at home there was a small radio that her father had brought from another country. And that while she was cleaning the floor she loved to hum the songs that were playing. All those songs still resonate in my head, even though she no longer remembers humming or her granddaughter.
The secret life of objects
No one understands why I leave the radio on even when I'm not at home. Some believe it is to scare away a thief. They don't know that objects have a secret life or that life is pure theater. They ignore that the porcelain figurines dance when I am away, that the books spill their words in the corners and that the flowers choose the most beautiful ones to write love songs.
They also don't know that none of that would be possible if the radio didn't play music for the whole show.
Is this what a life boils down to, Grandpa?
The old warehouse welcomes me with its solitude and my memories. In the dim light, your boots, still stained with cochineal, are covered in dust and cobwebs; the knife with which you carved pipes and peeled prickly pears for me, as rusty as the needles with which you mended my shoes; the wall calendar, which marks your last day with a trembling X, stained by cockroach droppings; and your beloved radio, unusable by woodworm, as silent as your voice.
The magic box
Those voices delighted him. Their conversations fueled his curiosity. Any noise that came out aroused his interest. Hearing the music, there was no greater pleasure. Wasn't it his only pastime, his only fun? And all that magic appeared with just the push of a button.
The other side
Once upon a time there was an island where radio signals from all over the world arrived, its
inhabitants spent their days listening to the ones they liked the most and also deciphering the place where they came from according to the language and what they said from the other side. The islanders knew the other side, but they didn't know where San Borondón was.
Godfather Adolfo and the radio
It has been restored and will be working as in its best times -he said with joy-, while he prepared to turn it on to demonstrate what he was saying. Aunt Ángela smiled proudly, Blanquita sat on the floor at the feet of the old woman, the windows were opened wide to allow the curious to peek their heads in. Soon the small room was filled with all the regular listeners who came every Friday afternoon to enjoy the amazing device, which in the midst of those turbulent times was a protagonist in daily events.
The waves of our love
You kissed me in the car while "I will always love you" was playing on the radio. You said it meant "I will always love you". That was ten years ago, but I believed you even though I didn't speak English.
Today you drive in silence while the radio fills the gaps in our conversation. I would like to ask you where you met her, what her name is, if you look at her the way you used to look at me..., but I keep quiet again.
Suddenly "Ne me quitte pas" plays. I hum. I tell you it means "Don't leave me", but it seems that you no longer listen to me or speak French.
The explosion
The day my grandfather left his house in the village and came to live with us, he had the bad luck of turning on my dad's radio (very old, with valves) just when a propane gas bottle exploded in the house next door. In addition to serious damage to the apartment, the neighbors' youngest son suffered third-degree burns on one hand.
–Do you think this little boy will ever be able to forgive me? –the grandfather used to ask us, sobbing, when we ran into the boy in the elevator.
Hereditary routine
Key in the ignition, belt in the buckle and music in the speakers. These are the daily sounds of a man, his car and his cassette. The roads of Lanzarote have worn out the skin, the wheels and the tape. To the sound of a hereditary routine, by dint of listening to the same record on loop, his daughter asks, how many people my age will listen to the radio? Stations where voices without instruments sound, the melody blossoms from the information. Hands on the keyboard, finger on the mouse and Lanzarote live. Will it be the birth of a new hereditary routine?
Untitled,
Your life is my life. I am also 50 years old. You are the voice of many, I am my own voice. You are listened to by those who tune in to dial 90.7, I am listened to by...those who cross my life from time to time. Sometimes we are surprised talking about the same thing: current affairs, environment, culture, health, sports, tourism, some talk show and, sometimes, we are diametrically opposed. As we should be. Because both: you and I, were born to be free with 8500 kilometers of difference and tell the truth, always the truth, even if it hurts or bothers. Let's toast to us!
Cheers!
I dreamed...
Last night I had a wonderful dream, one of those that when you wake up your heart shrinks when you see reality; we were all together again at home, as if you had never left, you were still children, running from one side to the other, shouting, laughing and driving me crazy with your fuss and mess, I scolded you without knowing at that moment how much I would give now to relive one of those days, watching you drink your hot chocolate while listening to your Saturday story program on the radio. How happy I was and I didn't realize it.
Now I can only dream it.
Turtle
The crystal clear water caresses my skin. A sweet warmth on a sunny summer day. I contemplate enraptured the bluish horizon and pampered by the rays of the Sun.
A whirlwind of foam brings me back to reality awakening my curiosity. I stand still. It was her, the beautiful turtle of different greenish tones whose visit the local radio station reminded us so many times. The same one that bathers and sailors had contemplated her tender eyes full of tears for the excessive ingestion of sea water.
She looked at me with the intention of staying forever in my memory and stealthily left.
Radio
Winter afternoons. Suffocating kitchen. Good company. My grandparents prepare dinner. The radio accompanies us and Mr. Anaya warns us of the weather conditions for sowing and fishing. Silence takes over the kitchen to give its deserved prominence to the news.
Faithful and tireless companion in the kitchen, in the field, at sea and in the pocket. Day and night, until the last news report of that cold winter afternoon in which, with its murmur, it accompanied my grandfather in the last moment of his life.
Other possibilities
When I am assailed by presentiments, when I navigate in my spiritual world through dreams, and I need answers, then to the sound waves that fluctuate in the air and that let themselves be heard bringing a message I grant other possibilities, while I listen to it, the radio, also sends me signals.
Untitled,
I held that strange box while carefully straightening the antenna. Then I pressed a small metallic coil and, without warning, a woman's voice echoed in the room.
She was singing.
Her voice, sweet and calm, illuminated everything in its path. She tamed the silence. She scared away the
shadows. She diluted reality. She whispered, affable.
–It's been a while since I heard that song.
I turned around, surprised. There was Grandpa.
–Who is the woman? −I asked.
–It's your mother.
Emotion overwhelmed me.
–And who is she singing to?
–To you, little one.
And tears ran down my face, for it was the first time I had heard her voice.
Untitled
–We found this among the wreckage of the ship –said the sailor.
The captain observed it carefully. It was just an old VHF radio, similar to the one he had in his cabin to document the rescues. There was nothing exceptional about it.
–What do you want me to do with that radio? –he asked, puzzled.
The sailor, nervous, pressed the power button. Then the captain heard it.
It was his own voice. He was sobbing.
"It arrived without warning. Stealthy. Threatening. Only I am left alive, trapped in my cabin, impatiently awaiting my fatal destiny. Don't run away. It's too late. The loop must continue. It's coming."
Untitled
You left a long time ago, but you left your memories. Memories that, unexpectedly, appear in the most unfortunate moments, in the most bitter moments.
Guided by the beauty of Famara, I drove under a reddish mantle. The aroma of saltpeter penetrated my lungs while the last rays of sun caressed my skin. You said it was a place to remember, and then I remembered.
The old cassette still rested in the radio. I pressed the button and my heart stopped, because your voice resonated strongly. You were singing.
It was as if you were next to me again, as if your memory had been frozen.
With her
I traveled kilometers of austere vegetation, narrow paths on foot or by car, locations of deep unease, places of infinite peace, ceilings of subliminal height that opened the way to waterfalls of green fire and fresh water and a white sky that was below my insignificant feet. I felt bigger and more haughty than ever, with unusual fierceness and inappropriate manliness. I walked without fear, I drove with firmness, straight to my glorious interpretive peak.
And I always listened, sad or happy, to that voice that emanated determination and that accompanied me everywhere. The radio, fortunately, my faithful friend.
Untitled,
My eyes open. The first thing they glimpse is my grandfather's old radio...... I'm still alive.
I close them again wishing to sink into the eternal sleep of no return, to meet him again.
They force me to look again and then I remember him sitting in the same rocking chair that now supports a bionic leg, a palm away from the dial wheel.
He was missing his eyes. And he always smiled.
They are coming to get me. Another transfer, another test.
The "hourly" announce: "long-distance runner, national award, will soon have a space with us as an example of overcoming.
I sigh. I close my eyes again."
