The VI Radio Lanzarote-Onda Cero Micro-story Contest continues to add participants and last week received 17 new stories. It should be remembered that the deadline to participate will conclude on August 31 and the theme of this edition is love or heartbreak. In addition, as every year, the radio must appear in the story.
As in previous editions, the maximum length of the stories must be 100 words, including the title if it has one. Each author may submit a maximum of five stories, which may be signed with a pseudonym, provided that the name and contact telephone number of the author are attached. Those who wish may send their works to the address: [email protected]. Until then, La Voz de Lanzarote will publish weekly those that are received and that meet the participation requirements.
These are the 17 works received until Thursday of last week:
I would like to!
I would like to tell you how much I love you, I would like to tell you that my love is immense. But I can't, I'm sorry; maybe I never felt anything for you; maybe your words on that radio program confused me; maybe when I understand you it will be too late, because I'm not willing to learn German.
Dry ink, living flesh
On October 13, 5 months after your deception, suddenly, I realized that I could not wait for you anymore, the ink of the pen with which I wrote verses to you dried forever and I no longer have any tears to waste. Life begins to dawn while in the background you can hear the symphony of a radio, the one we listened to together in front of the sea, but that now no longer reminds me of you. From then on I only write about love, not heartbreak.
Reset or deleted memory
Lately my verses no longer accompany me, they are asleep in your lap, silent, absent. Now my love verses have been transformed into radio songs that my head sings incessantly, like a tsunami that floods everything and does not let you breathe. Songs that sneak into my head and make bad memories remain in pure anecdotes. And who are you? My head asks me. You were the stone that made me fall a thousand times and get up a thousand and one. Sorry, what was your name? I forgot, finally.
Prayer of Good Love
Sofia was agnostic, she did not believe in any God, she only believed in love with capital letters and every night like a litany of the radio, she prayed:
"Saint Love of the Good,
Protect me from anyone who does not bring me anything good
Keep me away from all men without heartbeats and cold hands
May men of good heart come to me
And may those who are not worthy of my love forget about my being.
Thy good will always be done."
Love, do you exist?
"Does true love exist?"- Manuel, my little brother, asked me.
"Yes, honey, it exists"- I replied.
"Like in Disney movies?"- He asked again with hopeful eyes and waiting for an affirmative answer.
"No, like the true love of the grandparents who fought against everyone and even the war to continue loving each other like the first day"- I replied.
He was silent, looked at me and just said:
-"I'm going to call the radio to dedicate a love song to them, but of true love, not of the summer"-.
Who hasn't it happened to?
In the background, on the radio, the song that had been their song was playing.
Disconsolate, she took another sip of her glass of wine and at the same time swallowed her bitter tears as best she could.
When the bottle was finished, her strength was also finished.
And she burst into tears, while banging on the picture that he had given her for her birthday, not long ago. He seemed so in love . . . what had happened?
She felt stupid.
She didn't understand anything and knew that her questions would remain forever unanswered.
I will survive
Her favorite hobby was spending time by his side: it didn't matter if they were enjoying the most fun of plans or if they were simply cleaning the house, she was happy sharing moments.
He, however, was not a one-woman man.
She gave him everything. He broke her heart.
She learned that loving is giving without expecting anything in return.
She took a deep breath and dried her last tears.
She took off her clothes and her fears, turned on the radio and prepared to dance.
Age to love
They came out of the director's office crestfallen. They had been caught.
That behavior could not be tolerated in such a famous institution.
It was no use telling him how in love they were, the wedding plans they had, how happy they were together...
The director would call the relatives to find a solution. They knew perfectly well what that solution would consist of, as they also knew that they could no longer live apart.
The news was forgotten in a week. One more event, told by a local radio station:
"Two octogenarian elders, roommates, disappear from the Santa Teresa asylum."
She had received an unexpected letter
That envelope-letter or letter-envelope caught her attention.
There was no return address, but because of the origin, Usa, it could only be from him.
Two years ago, they were two young children in love, as you only love the first time.
And one day, on the street of both, appeared a blonde-very blonde, tall-very tall, and with blue-very blue eyes. It was all over. Not everything, she did not forget it, she had the radio, she had her song.
Two years later, it was him. In the distance, he missed her, he didn't remember the blonde-very blonde, tall-very tall at all.
Destinies
I head to the cliffs on the north road. Nostalgia tarnishes my soul and his dawn voice seeks to nest inside me. I ignore if I will be able to return to the now, after the echo. Or be mist, with him.
I stop my car and start walking to the edge of the cliff. I inhale all the air of the disagreements to shout his name and say goodbye. The petals of the caresses fall into the abyss. I cry the centuries.
On the way back, the radio plays and our song makes me captive of yesterday and his eyes.
Unbreakable love. Two destinies.
"Blue whispers"
Every night, exact time, the whisper of his words filled my ears.
Nights enlivened by the aroma of his words, reciting warm poems, filling my loneliness with joy.
To get my wishes to him.
-A letter, perhaps?
-Unforeseen entry into the station?
That voice sculpted his imaginary face, the sound of the "t" says that his eyes are brown. The melodious "m" marks a sweet look, a slow tone reveals sensuality. Love is what I feel.
-Excuse me, what time does the bus pass?
-Can't you read?
It was his voice, transforming the sweet to a rude tone. Suddenly everything vanished.
Goodbye Carmelo
My grandfather was Luis, my father Luis, me too. She Paloma, the first love, the first dance, the first kiss, the first sex, the first goodbye. Studies separated us. Thousands of years later we met with our young children in the Central Market. The memories passed like that moment before death, in which your life rolls at full speed through your mind and paralyzes you. Goodbye Paloma! Goodbye Carmelo! Not a vowel, not a vowel repeated while Roberto Carlos' The Distance was heard in the tea stall.
It would be Barbara, I thought, before going to bed.
Colors
While listening to the radio, 2-year-old Rosa drew non-stop. It was love, without further ado. She saw colored pencils and her hands automatically needed to paint, trace, scratch. Her canvas was the sheets of paper, the slates, the floor, the walls... life. She expressed what she felt, what she wanted, what she was.
Soon school arrived and everything changed. Don Andrés, forced her to change her colors for a gray pencil that she used to make sums, sentences and exams. Everything was boring. Little by little Rosa was extinguishing her imagination, her creativity, to inevitably become a normal person.
Dear
Where are you going, Love asked Heartbreak. I am going in search of sad and broken hearts to introduce myself. May you not find any, Love amended. Well, if I don't find them, I'll spend the afternoon listening to the Radio, love songs, Heartbreak replied. But well, how do you listen to love songs when you preach and seek Heartbreak, he exclaimed. Dear, the Lovers will be Disenchanted and you know, look among the wounded corpses and do not enter the healthy dead, my dear Love.
Untitled
He watched her from the altar as she advanced hooked to a bouquet of white lilies, attracted by the passion that those two eyes that contemplated her in each step that approached gave off.
She intertwined her nervous hands with those hands that would protect her all her life, after that yes I do that opened the doors to a place from which for years love did not want to escape.
Suddenly, the voice of a radio hits her with reality when the announcer reminds listeners of the time of the funeral. Her last hour with the love of her life.
Untitled
It's 3 in the morning and I'm still awake waiting to hear you turn the key when you arrive, I can wait for you all night, but you won't arrive, not even still keeping your place in bed.
My arms want to hug you every day, but they only manage to touch an empty place next to my pillow. Hating you would make it easier than trying to soothe the pain of the sores of love that grazes my soul.
I doze off when a gentleman wishes me good morning from the radio, it dawns again, and your space next to me is cold sheets.
Untitled
You taught me that in the oversight of a minute the person you will love for the rest of your hours can appear, that separate paths can lead to the same place without stepping on the footprints, to love me with my defects as you value me with them, I learned with you to enjoy moments in which solitude does not serve as company, you taught me that dialogue shortens distances, to look into your eyes and read your silences.
A stanza on the radio that sounds in the distance defines you, "... and with you I learned that I was born the day I met you"
