Alone and Found in Madrid
Short/Flash Narrative Story
Thank you for reading, The Stranger wRites. This is a reworked version of a piece I published on Medium in 2023.
It brushes on abusive behaviour. A heads-up for those who struggle with those themes.
If you haven’t already, subscribe and get my latest posts straight to your inbox.
Thank you to everyone who supports me! Your time and energy is always appreciated and never taken for granted.
I’m screwed.
2 a.m.
Alone in the outskirts of Madrid.
With nothing but my clothes and a singular euro coin wedged into the corner of my pocket.
It started with an argument about directions.
My partner and I had been taken bar hopping by a local friend. We’d jumped on and off the metro throughout the city at least half a dozen times with no care for where we were.
Through the haze of hookah smoke and drunkenness, we’d been sent on our way home - not realising the metro would be closed.
“You’re such a know-it-all! He towered over me, a fist raised. Spit flecked my face as he screamed into it.
I shoved him away on instinct.
He’d not expected it and stumbled back onto a knee. When he looked up his face was screwed up in embarrassed rage. He snatched the mobile phone out of my hand, tore off my satchel and ran off.
I stood dead still.
The moment replayed on a nightmarish loop before me.
Panic slowly seeping into each muscle.
Tears streamed.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Reality spiraled. Heart pounded in my ears. Any sense of control slipped away into a dissociative void.
I took a deep breath.
You’ve got to figure this out.
My face had transformed into a mucusy mass. Wiping snot onto my sleeve and dabbing my eyes dry, I pretended I had some sense of composure.
After another breath, I picked a direction and started walking.
Every time my foot hit the cobbles, it felt like a nail being driven into my being.
I’m so weak.
Step.
Female.
Step.
5’ 2”.
Step.
Alone.
Light poured onto the street from the open door of a convenience store. Crowded around the entrance were a group of men smoking. Laughing and shouting over music at one another in a mixture of Spanish and Arabic.
I cut off any thoughts.
I approached the men with my pathetic broken Spanish.
I can’t remember what I tried to say.
They just stared.
A younger man stepped away from the others. His English was much better than my Spanish. I told him which area of the city I was staying in, and he drew a mud map of how to get there.
He could see I was distressed and offered to walk me.
I thanked him but declined.
It seemed to take hours, but I made it to the hostel.
I don’t remember any of that part of the walk.
My passport had been taken from the room. Just my mobile sat on the pillow, full of abusive messages.
I called my parents.
I would go to the embassy first thing in the morning.
Amongst the despair, I felt a brief taste of some internal power.
How was I able to feel pride in my actions?
The spark soon faded amongst the stress.
Just after sunrise, he returned.
Gave an emotion-filled apology.
Lied about coming back to look for me.
Convinced me I made everything much more complicated than it needed to be.
I had overreacted to the situation after all. Hadn’t I?
I was tired and confused. I lapped that bullshit up.
He made me ring and tell my parents that I was safe and that I had just been very drunk.
Sometimes, I have nightmares about being stuck in labyrinth-like cityscapes.
I am usually looking for someone or something.
But I no longer feel lost or alone. I know I can find my way with or without help.
The city is almost always reminiscent of the streets of Madrid. I only spent four days in Madrid, yet it is deeply imprinted on my psyche.
I have never hated so deeply as I did in those moments.
It was not hate towards a transgressor but hate towards myself.
I hated that I’d allowed myself to become a victim.
That someone else had power to make me hate.
I was gaslit by a coward, but a switch had been flipped.
I had found a new part of me.
A part where fear and self-loathing could be turned into power.
The power to act.
For better or for worse.
To wipe away the tears and walk despite how messed up it all is.
Thank you for reading!
If you’d like to read more:
Creative Updates
I haven’t been posting here consistently, but I am writing daily.
Consistency of posting is an issue, especially due to the nature of the internet and these types of platforms. At this point my efforts are focused on building a healthy and consistent writing habit that works no matter what happens for me day-to-day. This hasn’t resulted in a weekly stand-alone piece at this time.
What I can tell you is that there is more content coming.
Fictional works in progress:
A two (or perhaps three) part science-fiction short story. Psychological thriller lite. The very detailed outline is complete - it is a semi-draft I cranked out over two days. Currently, it is at 3500 words. I expect it to clock in around 7000 once fleshed out.
Post-apocolyptic Novella. I was going to fly by the seat of my pants with this but I decided I’d at least complete a whole draft It’s over 10,000 words at the time of writing. I would call it counter-dystopian rather than dystopian, but the world is the backdrop to a “coming-of-age story”.
Impromptu wRites - I was hoping to do more of these after Destination Sol. However, I found myself being distracted from writing if I wasn’t hit with divine inspiration and could not get a story down in one sitting. I’d get sucked into scrolling Reddit or Substack instead of looking at or working on prompts.
I’ve set up a writing Discord community. It’s small, but we are having regular voice discussions. We have had some exchange of feedback on writing and are slowly building up to more accountability/support exercises. If this is something you are interested in, feel free to direct message me.
I enjoyed this piece...could feel the emotions. Thanks for sharing :)
Powerfully felt.