The Radio Lanzarote-Onda Cero Micro-story Contest, dedicated in its eleventh edition to the Tourist Centers, continues to receive stories.
The deadline to participate in the contest will be open until August 31. Until that day, those interested can send their stories to the email concursorelatos@lanzarotemedia.net, with a maximum length of 100 words, including the title if it has one.
On this occasion, participants must tell their own or imagined experience that occurred in some corner of the Tourist Centers that for them is full of magic. 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.
The stories will be read in the "Reading on the Radio" space of Radio Lanzarote (90.7), and published in La Voz de Lanzarote. Both publication and reading will be subject to the space and time availability 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 will receive a prize of a weekend for two people with accommodation and breakfast at the Hotel Natura Palace, a 4-star plus establishment. The second prize will be a dinner for two people at the Castillo de San José and the third prize one of the unusual experiences for two people from the Art, Culture and Tourism Centers of the Cabildo. All prizes are for adults.
The devil's oven
-Finally tomorrow I'm off.
-Me too.
-Wow... And... Would you like to come to the movies with me?
-I would love to.
He takes a photo of his wife, who died a year ago, from his wallet and throws it into the volcanic oven.
"You know I would like to spend eternity with you... But now I have to continue my life."
-Are they coming to pick you up today?
-No. Why?
-I thought I saw a woman getting into your car.
The next morning the guard discovers a burnt vehicle, at the bottom of a ravine, at the entrance to the Timanfaya National Park.
Dawn dreams
There he was... always with his serene way of walking and without anyone around. It was so late that neither the tables nor the chairs were part of the charm. Only the shiny wooden floor and a window that surrounded everything, with nothing more than the dark night behind it, I approach the bar and see a sky drawn with clouds. It's already daytime, I notice the morning air and the shared smile turns everything into my home.
Voices of a volcano
I will not leave without hearing the words of that stone, of that step, of that house, of the staircase, of the lake. The cry from that side, from the palm tree or from the cave, will remain as energetic as then. It will not be the silence that extinguishes my memory, nor the whisper of the wind that erases it... They will only be the background sound that accompanies my memories.
Dream at dawn
In the middle of that bright wooden floor, he wanders as always in his calmness. Next to the dark and silent night that appears in the endless window and that seems to have no obstacle to the outside, he combines his person with the neatness of his surroundings. I go to a gate and a sky drawn with clouds announces the freshness of a new day. I wake up and the sky is the ceiling, the glass is the obstacle, and the shadows invade the floor.
It happened in La Geria
It was the third bottle of Manto shared with those strangers.
She, encouraged by the euphoria of the moment, told her plans to which he felt so alien.
He evaded himself in his thoughts, he imagined himself shouting and throwing the table into the air, he visualized himself sticking the corkscrew into her neck.
"I love the horizon" she said
"The horizon is a deception, I love the bottom of the sea, I wish I had gills to walk among fish"
"You're missing a screw" she said
"I love you, let's go back to the hotel my love"
and they left.
I couldn't sleep
He looked out the window of the hotel room, after many hours browsing the net looking for information about Lanzarote, to enjoy it together.
He was out of context where no element disturbed contact with his inner voice.
He adored the setting where you transgress routine, and even more at those ghostly and strange hours.
He was in an effective space where he could isolate himself and find himself.
And that moment happened, a few seconds before everything was normal, and suddenly he felt like he was floating on a cloud.
Suddenly he became aware of what he had done, perhaps she would never come back with him.
Garden of kisses
The truth is that I did it unconsciously. I didn't think about the side effects. I was a young and carefree boyfriend... and the environment was so beautiful... I kissed her almost treacherously, without warning. I never feared reprisals. However, life is not a fairy tale. You never foresee all the reactions. And now I have to face the consequences. Because of that brief and insignificant furtive kiss... now she, every night, demands a garden of kisses from me to be able to sleep. Luckily, to compensate, she often invites me to have breakfast in the Cactus Garden...
The hats of time
It is the story buried in the immaculate white mantle with silhouettes that simulate rest for the worker; It is the roughness of the remains of wood, which resist the passage of time in their green shells; And the hollows in the shade of the farmer to return to the new day; The surroundings are the reason for their shapes and the sustenance that still springs from their entrails; It is: the art of a life, sustained for the example to the profane and the home of its people forever.
The hiding place
She says we are ostriches, hidden in the ground. I, that as was done in the past, we use the Cueva de los Verdes to flee from the pirates. She takes my hand and I start to tremble. Oh, if our families found out that every Saturday we hug in this cave. That they no longer charge us admission, because we come to love each other, and love, says the ticket seller, is priceless. She kisses my carmine lips and my desire echoes between the porosity of the lava. How much we have left to love. How much we have left to fight
The Atlantic lizard
On hot days like today I like to leave my hiding place, surf among the waves of ancient lava, jump from stone to stone and, above all, observe them. Mine are afraid of them, but I am passionate about watching them. So bipedal, so bald, so surprised. Traveling in that metallic contraption that shows them my house, my Mountains of Fire. They tell them that in Timanfaya someone planted a fig tree and no fruit came out because life cannot come out of the fire. When I hear it, I always laugh and feel special. Because I am alive, here among the extinguished flames.
The escape
He lacked air, but not desire. His trembling steps were not alone, they were accompanied by other more lively ones that guided him in that brazen adventure that he did not regret. From the watchtower of the Mirador del Río he could see the beach where they met sixty years ago. He was fishing, she was walking. The knot in his stomach that was rising to his chest forced him to sit down. He didn't have the strength to open the urn, so his little escape companion did. —Say goodbye to Grandma before they catch us
