The first texts for the call for entries for the XVI edition of the Radio Lanzarote 2026 Micro-story contest have begun to arrive at the editorial offices 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 submission period this Wednesday, July 1, 2026, until August 31st, both inclusive.
On this occasion, participants must submit a micro-story that must not exceed 100 words, not including the phrase we will provide below. All stories will have the same title "...And in the afternoon it rained". Based on 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 provide a name and contact phone number. Likewise, the stories should be sent to the address: [email protected].
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 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.
Fifteen texts have been received so far:
Text 1: ...And in the afternoon it rained
I could not imagine what was going to happen. A little before, I was in the cloud and I discovered it near me: the most precious drop I had ever seen in my life. Our condensation process had coincided in time and I did everything possible to get closer to it, but it didn't even notice my presence.
When I thought I would lose her in the crowd, the electrical apparatus made the storm burst and the music of the thunder accompanied our first dance. Then, we plunged into the abyss in a wet embrace that made us inseparable forever.
Text 2: ...And in the afternoon it rained
And in the afternoon it rained, first timidly and then with a fury that seemed to want to erase the city of New York from the map… At 200 meters high, the tightrope walker's umbrella, overcome by vertigo and fatigue, mistook Times Square for a colorful and laborious anthill.
Text 3: ...And in the afternoon it rained.
In the street, some girls can be heard singing at the entrance: “The courtyard of my house is private...”.
She stops. That song always takes her back to Doña Gregoria, her kindergarten teacher, who taught them the circle game with a patience that seemed eternal. She remembers small hands joined, clumsy steps, the “bend down and bend down again”.
For an instant, she feels like she’s back there, spinning in that courtyard that smelled of chalk and snacks.
And then it starts raining again, as if the afternoon wanted to put music to the song.
Text 4. ...And it rained in the afternoon.
She went out into the street as usual, looking for puddles. She doesn’t like people who avoid them, who walk carefully so as not to step into any. She says that those who avoid them live dry on the inside. “They are selfish —she murmurs—, they only think of themselves, incapable of seeing the puddle the neighbor might be in, incapable of helping the one in front of them who is sinking”.
Everyone, in life, sooner or later, steps in puddles.
It all depends on our attitude and the luck of a friendly —or anonymous— hand pulling us out of the water in time.
Text 6: ...And it rained in the afternoon.
With the car loaded to the roof and the last boxes already inside, all that was left was to start it.
—Come on, we’ll miss the boat —said Mom.
She took a step towards the passenger door.
And suddenly it started to rain.
She stopped dead. She took off her shoes with a haste we hadn’t seen in her, held the shoes in her left hand, and ran towards the sand with her green dress clinging to her body.
Mom opened her mouth to call her, but I held her arm.
—No —I whispered—. Let her dance.
Text 8: …And it rained in the afternoon.
The orchestra fell silent in the middle of the chorus. While the musicians ran to cover the equipment with plastic, someone announced over the loudspeaker that the festival was over.
In the square, the silence lasted barely an instant.
A soaked woman raised her hands and continued singing alone:
—Gently, kiss me!
Beside her, three friends joined in the chorus, and in the blink of an eye, the three hundred people in the square merged into a single mass, jumping over the puddles.
There were no more speakers, no lights, no stage.
Just a town singing in the downpour.
Text 9: …And it rained in the afternoon.
The wood of the dinghy creaked against the rocks, and the impact threw us onto the dark sand of the cove. We crawled through the seagrass, shivering, our eyes blinded by the salt crust and the heavy fear of those who had crossed the channel in the dark.
It was then that the sky opened up.
The downpour began to wash our faces, dissolving the sting of the sea on our cheeks. I slowly opened my eyelids, swallowing the sweet water from the sky, and finally I could see my brother's face again.
We were alive.
Text 10: ...And in the afternoon it rained.
This black bird doesn't know how much I long for a cascade of anguish. A pain in my ribs that makes me feel company. The sun dances on my skin as I roll down the hill. I want to see the memory of his face in the clear sky. Instead, I see many eyes that do not shut up.
—Look what you did to the sky. The sun no longer warms. Why do you condemn us to see everything?
They closed tightly until everything darkened. I felt a pull, a mother-pain enveloped me. A cold breeze and a cry flooded me. And in the afternoon it rained.
Text 11: ...And in the afternoon it rained.
The clouds ride on themselves. The sky turns inside out. My heartbeats are thunder. The walls are cracked, the windows trembling. I would like to know what lies beyond this storm, beyond the gray. A whole life remembering what does not exist and missing what I do not want. I feel a tension between the clouds that perhaps should not be resolved. A flash is always a hope. And in the afternoon it rained. It rained on me under the roof of the house.
Text 12: ...And in the afternoon it rained.
The sky was the color of cavities and in the afternoon it rained. White fangs with mother-of-pearl tips.
They penetrated the ceiling and calcium flooded the room. My sister covered in bed wouldn't stop crying. She told me that God wanted to eat her for behaving so badly, as Mom always says. I told her she might be right. She didn't answer anything. I uncovered her and it was a giant jaw oozing colostrum. It chewed the bed and swallowed Mom, who left behind a flower of milk.
Text 13: ...And in the afternoon it rained.
My feet are heavy with every step I take.
Tons of oil run through me and soak my clothes. I am the color of a blackbird.
I have the temperament of the wind. I found a fig on the ground and it told me I was clean, that the water would take all of that away. I told it I didn't think so, because Achamán abandoned me a long time ago. And then I bit it. The milk that was its blood dripped on me. I didn't care about being dirty anymore. And in the afternoon it rained.
Text 14: ...And in the afternoon it rained.
I had a dream in which I painted a picture with bug blood. I lifted the stones and picked up all I could. Sometimes I also went for woodlice. I painted a volcano's scream. Monochromatic and dense. Almost like oil paint. But it smelled much better. I put it on the shore and offered it to the sea. But the tide went out and it stayed there waiting. But it started to rain. I wanted it to turn black. For the lava to cool. But it stayed the same. Screaming.
Text 15: ...And in the afternoon it rained.
That day, the wind tore off some old tiles and revealed a letter hidden for forty years. The old woman, who could barely see, recognized that handwriting instantly. She opened it with trembling hands, and the heart of the young woman she once was began to beat again.
“If you accept, I will wait for you under the big walnut tree.”
She never received that letter. Someone decided her fate.
She kissed it, held it to her chest, and raised her gaze to the sky without resentment. Then, as if time were resting, and in the afternoon it rained.
Text 16: ...And in the afternoon it rained.
Dawn. It's not just any day. The wet pearls move along the leaves like
Virgin's tears.
I am privileged to live in an environment between woods and mountains, that combination of green colors, that peaceful atmosphere, that sound of branches rubbed by the wind. The chirping of birds invades my imagination, it transports me to live the dream of my life.
To see the dawn, to enjoy peace, the smell of damp flowers and roses, to smile at this life I have left and to dream, to dream of my freedom.
I am happy.
Text 17: ...And in the afternoon it rained.
Today the trees bid me good morning with their dances and songs to the wind, that damp perfume, those tears of joy on their leaves, that chirping of little birds, giving thanks to heaven, for their gift of giving life with their dawn light and freedom. That new spring of clear and pure water; What a miracle of nature! And, suddenly, everything is illuminated even more with a beam of colors. Oh God! How great is this mystery of time!
Is there anything more beautiful than a rainbow?
Wise nature.
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