The editors of Radio Lanzarote have already received the first texts for the call for the XV edition of the Radio Lanzarote Short Story contest Summer 2025. This time the contest commemorates the centenary of the birth of the writer Carmen Martín Gaite (Salamanca 1925 - Madrid 2000).
One more year, the Tourist Centers collaborate with the contest, which opens the deadline this Tuesday, July 1, 2025 until August 31, both inclusive.
This time the participants must present a micro-story that must not exceed 100 words, among which the introductory text that we will provide below does not count. The stories will have the same beginning, a fragment of Las ataduras (1960): "Immediately the door of the bar opened and a girl ran out, crossing her cardigan over her chest. She turned to answer the man who was running after her, reached the side of the car and opened the front door for him...". From this beginning, the 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 a contact telephone number. Also, the stories will be sent to the address: [email protected].
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.
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 Jameos Noche dinner for two people, while the second will get a dinner for two people at the Castillo de San José. Finally, the third place winner will enjoy an Unusual Experience for two people.
Story 1
...and while she was getting in, my hands trembled on the steering wheel.
She wasn't the same.
I knew her well. I had picked up my sister drunk, broken, furious a thousand times... but never so silent.
I glanced at her face in the sun visor mirror and could only make out an abject distortion
The guy following her was shouting at me from the other side of my glass.
—Don't let her in! It's a reflection, it's not human!
I turned my head to see that she had gotten into my car.
She no longer had eyes.
Only two dark orbits that stared at me.
Story 2
...but when I closed the door, I noticed that the car smelled different.
She was crying, without tears.
He was still behind, but his steps made no noise.
—Where are we? —she asked.
I looked in the rearview mirror, the bar was gone.
Just an empty field.
—I don't know yet —I said, starting the engine.
She looked at the sky.
—We died last night, didn't we?
I just drove. Sometimes the truth comes with the kilometers.
Story 3
- Of course, girl, I'm always getting you out of trouble. Who knows what you've offered that man to chase you like that.
- What do you care? I hate that my uncle is watching me. If I've left home, it's to live my own life. I'm eighteen years old.
- Are you going to be ungrateful? I'll stop and you get out of the car right now.
She didn't hesitate for a moment and gave him the finger from the sidewalk.
- Cut! I've told you a thousand times that I don't want any obscene gestures in my movies.
Story 4
- For God's sake, but who is that man? - I asked him, while accelerating quickly.
- You've arrived on time, Carmen. He's the guy I saw strangling, in this same place, the woman who appears in the newspaper today - he told me, his voice trembling and crossing the cardigan over his chest more and more tightly.
- We must tell everything to the police.
- No.
She opened her jacket. A gun. Fatal shot. Carmen's head fell on the steering wheel...
It had been the man who had recognized her.
It doesn't matter. He would be next.
Story 5. The payment
He sat in the back, blindfolded her, and covered her mouth. As she got out of the car, the trade winds almost knocked her to the ground. He pushed her inside a ruined house. Leaning close to her ear, he whispered: - If you don't do everything we tell you, you'll end up dead anywhere on the island!
Story 6. Letters never sent
She was clutching a yellowish envelope to her chest. —Shall I take her to the Post Office? —I ventured. —No, to the old cemetery of San Andrés. She opened the envelope and took out a handwritten letter. —I wrote it to her twenty years ago. I never had the courage to give it to her. —And what are you going to do now? —He can't read it anymore, but I can say it out loud. I drove slowly between cypresses while she rehearsed words of love that would arrive late but that, at last, would arrive. Some conversations transcend death.
Story 7. Geographies of silence
She settled into the front seat, pointing decisively towards the sea horizon.
—To the fishing port, please, I'm in a hurry. —Are you traveling alone, ma'am? —For thirty long years. My husband thinks I'm buying bread. I smiled understandingly. In the rearview mirror I watched the man walking slowly, unaware that his wife was sailing towards unexplored territories of herself. —Do you know which boat you will take?
—The first one that takes me further away from who I was this morning. I drove slowly. Some important trips are not in a hurry.
Story 8. The last verse
She got in without looking at me. Her hands trembled as she searched in her bag. "Where am I taking you?" I asked. "Anywhere where my father's verses don't haunt me." In the rearview mirror I saw the man stop on the sidewalk, defeated. She found a crumpled piece of paper, read it: "My daughter, forgive me for writing our family history without asking you if you wanted to be a character in my poems." The traffic light turned green. I stepped on the accelerator and literature was left behind forever, dissolving on the asphalt like fresh ink in the evening rain.
Story 9. The collector of absences
She closed the car door gently, like someone protecting an intimate secret.
—Do you know that man? —he asked, looking in the rearview mirror. —He's my older brother. He collects women who are constantly running away. Her eyes filled with ancient sadness. I turned on the radio and a voice narrated stories of mermaids who left the sea for love. —And what do you do then? —she whispered. —I help them escape. It's my way of not running away. We started slowly as the afternoon faded, taking secrets with us.
Story 10. The Mirror of Decisions,
She looked in the rearview mirror and fixed her hair. —Are you running away from him? —I asked. —No. I'm choosing for the first time. He was banging on the window, furious. She watched him calmly. —I always lived his decisions. Today I made mine.
—Which one?
—To ask him to marry me.
I looked at her surprised. She smiled complicitly.
—Now he must choose. Not everyone who runs away is running away; sometimes they are running towards something
wonderful.
I started slowly, knowing that I witnessed an intimate revolution.
Story 11. The station we didn't get to live
It wasn't the first time they had run away together, but they knew that this would be the last.
She had eyes soaked with a goodbye, he was clenching his lips like someone keeping a secret.
They got in without looking back.
When the engine started, he looked at me fleetingly in the rearview mirror.
It was my sister.
And that man... the love that I never had the courage to hold on to.
Story 12. Famara never asks
We started without speaking.
When we passed the viewpoint, her breathing matched the wind.
Famara received her without questions, as if she also knew about escapes.
I didn't ask who he was, nor did she explain who I was.
She went down to the edge of the cliff and shouted something that the sea swallowed.
She never returned.
But every time I go to the beach, a seagull lands nearby and watches me. It never flies until I leave.
Story 13. Geria, wine and ash
—Drive —she told me—, to where they can't see us.
I took her to La Geria.
Among vineyards embraced by ash, she opened the bottle she was carrying in her bag.
—My grandfather used to say that here, wine cures what is not said.
We drank in silence.
The sun made us promise not to go back with them.
That night we slept under a sky so clear that the stars whispered secrets to us.
At dawn, she left.
I only found a half-full glass. And in the background... a volcanic stone, small, black, still warm.
Story 14. Red like the jameos
She was red, like the jameos at sunset. She looked at me with shame, as if her career was a sin.
The guy following her was wearing a suit.
She, dreams.
—I just want to dance, finally, without shoes —she said.
I drove to the Charco de los Clicos.
She got out barefoot, spun around and shouted her name to the wind.
Since then, whenever there is a full moon, I return to that corner with bare feet.
In case she decides to dance again.
Story 15. Postcards without a stamp
She didn't ask me who I was or where we were going.
She just said: "If you speed up, maybe the memories won't reach us."
I drove to Los Hervideros.
There she took off her cardigan, folded it like someone closing a story, and threw it into the sea.
—Is he your boyfriend? —I asked.
—No. It was what I should be.
Days later, I received a postcard without a stamp.
It only said: "Thank you for not asking. See you at the next volcano."
Story 16. Do you know who I am?
In a matter of seconds we moved away. We say goodbye to the only bar we go to. She hates being who she is, she abhors her last name. The same thing happens to me.
-Thank you. You saved me from that heavy bastard, I'm Lola, but I guess you already know who I am.
-I only know what they say.
- Lies. I need to get out of this island, it was a mistake. He knows it, that man... Stop! I want to get off, stop the car please, be careful, no noooooo...
News: traffic accident with one dead and one seriously injured.
Both women. Due to the burns they have not been able to be identified.
Story 17. Magdalena
-Help me!
-What's wrong, miss?
-Look, look what I have on my chest.
-It's true, your cardigan is getting lost with blood with how bad it is to remove.- I muttered.
-I always tell you that you are clumsy.- The man released.
-I just wanted to order dessert, honey.- She excused herself.
-You know that I speak for both of us, Magdalena, you didn't need to flirt with the waiter for a piece of grandma's cake.
-That's no reason for you to mistreat your wife.- I exclaimed.
-Oh, this? It's raspberry cake... they didn't have grandma's left.
