The Radio Lanzarote-Onda Cero Short Story Contest, which in its eleventh edition is once again starring the Tourist Centers, receives new 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 is full of magic for them. 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" section 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 will be one of the unusual experiences for two people from the Art, Culture and Tourism Centers of the Cabildo. All prizes are for adults.
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Even if you had a grandmother, Grandma Nina, who never had grandchildren, was the grandmother of Mácher.
She was that type of person who smiles at you but doesn't need her mouth to do it. A halo of goodness was created in her gaze, which invited you to come in, softened your character and, without wanting to, you told her your things.
She neither knew nor visited the island's Tourist Centers, but she did upholster their chairs and imagined, once, being on a day of jubilation among those people, who, sitting on her stitches, enjoyed their days off speaking in a hundred languages and smiled.
The rite in the throat of the jameo.
Raised above the heads that rotate glasses of colored fabrics and wicker baskets that seem to contain the history of the islander, they stir in silhouettes and coordinated swings. And on a giant palette hidden in a dreamlike place, voices are raised in claim of a past. To the rhythm attached to the steps of the worker, they emulate their memorable times in dances. Stone walls support the echo and the air seems to carry their voices to the wind.
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He looked tiny next to it. That huge shadow kept looking at him, watching him facelessly as it approached him. He squeezed the pointed stone so hard that blood ran down his hand. He couldn't see it, because there was no light, except for the one projected by the silhouette, but he noticed how it ran hot through his thin, trembling fingers. Fear was already in control of all his actions and in the Cueva de los Verdes it was never a good decision to run no matter how much fear took it. Erect, wanting to appear tall and strong, he waited for its arrival. And it arrived.
Volcanic soul
I wake up at dawn with a thirsty soul, it whispers in my ear that it wants to go to a place, a magical place where it needs to feel the four elements of nature enveloping it.
Timanfaya whispers to me, take me to Timanfaya.
Upon arriving at the place, it welcomes me with its majestic volcanoes, and I slide, walk and breathe over them while observing its almost infernal beauty.
Like a courtship to my fragile soul where it invites it to enter through its paths of burnt earth, enveloping it in its warm fire, it whispers to me that I am ready to start the day.
Catastrophe
When I regained consciousness, the door was open... and the whole store was destroyed... as if a condemned sirocco had entered by mistake and then couldn't find the exit, bouncing off the walls, the lamps, the porcelain pieces, the tiny cacti, the olivine beads, all the "Souvenirs from Lanzarote"... before going back out where it had entered... I crawled as best I could, on all fours and, when passing in front of a mirror, I discovered the real culprit of the catastrophe... An old and deranged dromedary tired of waiting for retirement...
Rising tide
A woman walks barefoot with her dog along the shore. She cools her feet in the water, while the huge dog starts running as if possessed. -Neptune! What's wrong? Neptune begins to dig with his front paws in the vicinity of the Castillo de San José, in an area that is only visible when the tide is as extremely low as today. -What's wrong? What have you found? Neptune returns running, happy, to the presence of the woman, with a bone between his teeth... And Ligeia checks, with surprise, that it is a horse's tibia...
That bright light
The first night, when I was already trying to sleep, I looked out the window trying to see a shooting star, but suddenly, I was surprised by a huge and bright light at the doors of the Mirador del Río, I watched it for a long time, but scared by the unknown, I decided to lie down to my head trying to figure out what I had seen.
In the morning, I ran to the window to look, and I thought it had been a dream, but the first conversation I hear my grandparents having at breakfast was, what the hell would a bright light be that was last night in La Batería del Río.
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Once upon a time there was a very restless and curious girl, she wanted to know everything.
One morning she saw a castle, Dad, Dad, let's go there!
Dad, who lives here?, the father said jokingly: here lives the witch of hunger.
She didn't have time to call: Pum, pum, Witch, witch open the door! It's us.
But the door remained closed.
After a few years, Margarita returned, the door was open!, she entered and was amazed, delighted with the beauty of Art.
Suddenly a young woman approached, she was carrying a giant iron key: I'm sorry I have to close.
Margarita smiled, thank you dad.
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–No, you don't need to book - were the last words of my interlocutor on the phone.
7:00 p.m., Los Jameos.
–I'm sorry, but without a reservation you won't be able to have dinner –he said confidently behind the window.
Impotence, incomprehension, rage, fury, unease... hunger!... all this was what the ticket seller could see reflected in our faces before the earth opened under his feet and swallowed him. In his descent, we could hear him say clearly:
–Although, if you want you can go down and ask the metreee –and he disappeared leaving a cloud of dust, dense and black from which small flames sprang up everywhere...
Mischief
My grandfather told me a hundred times.
I imagined the place, the faces of his cousins, the childish laughter after the mischief...
And finally the day arrived. We flew back to his roots. He seemed like a child the day before Reyes, as if returning to that magical place would turn back the clock, discounting fifty years from his marker.
He searched with his gaze for the exact point in a sky of sleeping lava.
A ray of light was his accomplice.
-There!
Whenever I visit Jameos, I see my grandfather at 10 years old, falling into the water through the hole in the roof.
The prickly mirror
I only came to look at myself, everyone says I look like you.
That if I'm picona, when they bother me.
That if I like the sun, to warm me up.
That if with little I go, and so it goes.
That if I defend myself, only if I'm afraid.
That if I'm alone, well, let the trade winds run.
That if cochineal, for not removing the carmine from my lips...
That's why this little puddle is here,
So that the fish that lives in me, can cool off next to yours.
So that I can recognize myself in my reflection and in your thorns.
