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MidReal Story
The Cabin In The Pyrenees
Scenario:Elena Montero jamás se había considerado una aventurera. A sus treinta y dos años, su vida transcurría en un apartamento minimalista con vistas al skyline de Madrid, donde trabajaba como directora de marketing digital en una prestigiosa agencia. Sus días se medían en notificaciones, reuniones virtuales y deadlines, mientras sus relaciones se desarrollaban principalmente a través de pantallas. Un éxito profesional incuestionable según todos los parámetros convencionales.
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Elena Montero
first_person_protagonist, female. She is a digital marketing director living in Madrid. She is disciplined, ambitious, and successful, yet unfulfilled. Her life is transformed when she inherits a rustic cabin in the Pyrenees from a distant relative, prompting her to embark on an unexpected journey with her best friend, Carlos. This trip rekindles memories of her childhood and introduces her to new experiences, making her question her modern lifestyle and the world beyond her city.
Ana Moreno
side_character, female. She is Elena's colleague and confidante at the marketing agency in Madrid. She is supportive, lively, and competitive. Ana often participates in social activities with Elena and encourages her to take breaks from work. Though she admires Elena's success, she envies the freedom of traveling that comes with it. Her conversations with Elena highlight the contrast between their urban lives and the world beyond their agency walls.
Carlos
side_character, male. He is Elena's best friend and a charismatic individual known for his reckless behavior. He is adventurous, daring, and loyal. Carlos convinces Elena to join him on a trip to the Pyrenees to inherit her late relative's cabin. His spontaneous nature pushes Elena out of her comfort zone, and he introduces her to new aspects of life, such as offroading and immersing herself in local culture, while maintaining his usual charm and humor.
"Come on, Elena, just one more drink."
"Oh, Carlos, I really shouldn’t…"
"Fuck it, it’s Friday. You’ve worked hard all week. Besides, I have a surprise for you."
My best friend knows me too well.
He can dangle the tiniest carrot in front of me and I’ll follow him anywhere.
The truth is I’m bored.
I need something to take my mind off the fact I’ve been stuck in the same routine for the past two years.
Ever since I turned thirty I’ve started to feel like I’m just going through the motions.
Wake up, go to work, come home, watch TV, go to bed.
I’m a digital marketing director at a prestigious agency in Madrid.
My life is as dull and uneventful as that sounds.
I stare across the table at Carlos who is grinning at me expectantly.
"OK," I cave in, "but if I don’t like your surprise, I’m blaming you for the rest of my life."
"You won’t."
He stands up and pulls me to my feet.
We’re in a trendy bar in the centre of Madrid with views across the city.
The bar is crowded, but Carlos leads me to a quieter corner near the window.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts scrolling through his emails.
"What are you doing?"
I ask, leaning against the glass as I look out at the twinkling lights below.
"Here," he says, holding his phone up for me to see.
It’s an email from my mother’s neighbour, Mrs. Jenkins.
I frown as I start to read it.
Mom’s had an accident.
She fell while she was gardening and hurt her back.
She’s going to be OK, but she needs someone to help her out for a few days.
My hands start to shake as I read on.
Mrs. Jenkins is going away on holiday next week and she won’t be able to check on Mom every day like she has been doing since the accident happened.
She was wondering if I could come home for a few days to help Mom out until she’s back on her feet again.
I’m not sure what to say or do.
I’ve never been very good in emergency situations.
I’ve always been more of a ‘think things through before acting’ kind of person. "What do you think?"
Carlos asks me, squeezing my shoulder gently.
"I don’t know," I admit, feeling overwhelmed by the situation.
"I guess I should go home and help Mom."
"Yeah," Carlos agrees.
"You can’t leave your mom alone when she’s hurt."
"But what about work?"
I ask, feeling a wave of panic wash over me.
"I have so much work to do. I can’t just leave."
"You’ll figure it out," Carlos says reassuringly.
"Besides, it’s only for a few days."
I nod, trying to calm myself down.
I pull my own phone out of my purse and start scrolling through my calendar to see which projects I can delegate to other people while I’m away from the office.
"I’ll drive you," Carlos offers as we walk towards the door of the bar. "No, it’s fine," I say, shaking my head.
"I’ll drive myself."
This is something I need to do alone.
"Elena, you don't have to do everything by yourself," Carlos insists, his voice gentle but firm.
"I know, but this is my mom we're talking about," I reply, feeling the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders.
"Just remember, you're not alone in this; I'm just a call away if you need anything," he says, giving me a reassuring smile.
I stare at my half-empty glass, the ice cubes melting as rapidly as my composure.
The bar's ambient chatter fades while I scroll through work emails on my phone, calculating the meetings I'll need to reschedule.
Carlos gently pushes my phone down, forcing me to look at him.
"Elena, you're spiraling," he says, ordering me a chamomile tea instead of another cocktail.
I protest, but he's right - I need a clear head to drive to my mother's tomorrow.
When the waiter brings the tea, I wrap my hands around the warm cup, finally letting out a long breath.
I realize that sometimes, the hardest part of moving forward is simply deciding to begin.
I stare at the tea Carlos ordered, watching steam curl up from the cup while refreshing my work email obsessively.
The notification finally appears - a response from my boss.
My hands shake slightly as I open it, dreading potential pushback about working remotely.
Instead, I find a surprisingly understanding message granting me permission to handle projects from my mother's house.
Relief floods through me until Carlos snatches my phone, reading the message aloud in an exaggerated formal tone.
I try to grab it back, but he holds it above his head, grinning as he continues his theatrical performance.
Sunk in my chair, I cease my attempts to reach for my phone while Carlos continues his theatrics, accompanied by exaggerated hand gestures.
The warmth of the tea spreads through my hands as I lift the cup to my lips.
Around us, the bar's ambient chatter fills the air, and for the first time tonight, I actually hear it instead of being lost in my own thoughts.
Carlos places my phone face-down on the table between us, and I leave it there, choosing instead to wrap both hands around my cup.
I lean back in my chair, watching Carlos finish his theatrical performance of my boss's email with an exaggerated bow.
The ice in his glass clinks softly as he takes a sip, while the droplets of condensation slowly slide down the surface of the crystal.
Near us, other customers laugh and chat, their voices weaving a warm and inviting atmosphere.
When Carlos slides my phone back across the table, I surprise both of us by pushing it into my purse instead.
He raises an eyebrow, and I respond by raising my teacup in a small toast.
"Thanks for the tea," I say, taking a sip.
"It's been a long day."
I smile at him, feeling a sense of gratitude.
The bar's ambient chatter has thinned out, with only a few patrons remaining at scattered tables.
Carlos checks his watch and starts gathering his things, but I'm already reaching for my purse.
"I must go home and prepare the suitcases," I say, rising and smoothing my skirt.
He offers to walk me to my car, but I decline with a quick hug.
I walk through the dark and dimly lit parking lot, my heels echoing against the asphalt as I search for my car.
When I finally slide into the driver's seat, I don't start the engine immediately.
Instead, I grip the steering wheel, staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror.
My usually perfect makeup has smudged slightly, and my carefully styled hair has fallen flat.
The dashboard clock reads 11:42 PM.
I should be reviewing tomorrow's presentation, not driving to my mother's house.
I slide my key into the ignition, the metal cold against my fingers in the dark car.
My laptop bag sits heavy in the passenger seat, filled with presentation notes I'll need to review.
The dashboard clock blinks 11:45 PM as I turn the key, and the engine hums to life.
Street lights cast orange shadows across my steering wheel while I pull up my phone's voice recorder.
If I time it right, I can practice my delivery during the three-hour drive tomorrow.
I take a deep breath, knowing that tonight's decision will change everything.
The dashboard clock now reads 11:48 PM.
My fingers hover over the gear shift as I calculate the route - three hours minimum to reach my mother's house, not counting potential traffic or construction.
The rational part of my brain screams about the foolishness of starting such a long drive this late, but I can't shake the image of my mother struggling alone.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white as memories flood back - Mom's face when she cooked dinner alone after Dad left, her brave smile hiding pain during my college graduation.
The dashboard clock blinks 11:50 PM.
My finger hovers over the GPS, but I already know the route by heart.
Three hours on the M-607 through dark mountain roads.
The weariness weighs upon my eyes, and my reflection reveals dark circles forming.
As I pull out of the parking lot, my phone rings, startling me.
"Are you really going through with this?" my sister's voice crackles through the speaker, laced with concern.
"I have to," I reply, my voice steady despite the storm inside me, "Mom needs us now more than ever."
The dashboard clock reads 12:15 AM.
My car climbs the winding M-607, the headlights barely piercing the thick darkness ahead.
The radio crackles with static, and my phone shows no signal bars.
Despite my usual confidence behind the wheel, each shadowy bend makes my chest tighten.
Yet, as the road stretches endlessly before me, a quiet resolve settles in my heart.
The dashboard clock reads 12:25 AM.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white as I navigate the winding M-607 through the darkness.
The speedometer inches past 80 km/h despite the sharp curves.
A yellow sign warning of deer crossing flashes briefly in my headlights, but I press the accelerator harder, feeling the engine strain against the incline.
My phone, useless without signal, sits dark on the passenger seat next to my abandoned work laptop.
The dashboard clock reads 12:30 AM.
I lean forward in my seat, straining to see through the darkness as my headlights barely illuminate the winding road ahead.
The speedometer shows 85 km/h when my high beams catch a glimpse of movement at the edge of the asphalt.
Before I can process what I'm seeing, a dark mass hurls itself into my path.
My body reacts instinctively - I wrench the steering wheel hard to the left, my tires screeching against the pavement.
The car lurches sideways, and I feel the back end starting to slide.
The dashboard clock reads 12:31 AM.
I fight the steering wheel as my car spins out of control, tires screeching against wet asphalt.
The guardrail rushes toward me, then suddenly disappears as my vehicle plunges through dense undergrowth.
Branches scrape against the windows while I slam on the brakes, but the car continues sliding down a steep, hidden dirt path.
My headlights illuminate thick fog swirling between ancient tree trunks.
The car finally stops, tilted at an angle, its front end buried in ferns.
When I try to reverse, the wheels only spin, digging deeper into soft earth.
I sit in the silence, heart pounding, realizing I've stumbled upon a place that wasn't meant to be found.
The dashboard clock reads 12:32 AM.
I try to call for help, but my phone screen taunts me with "No Signal."
My car's GPS is useless, unable to pinpoint our location in the dense forest.
I glance around, trying to take in my surroundings through the foggy windshield.
The trees loom over me, their branches swaying in the wind like skeletal fingers.
The air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.
I try to calm myself down, telling myself it's just a minor accident and that I'll be able to get out of here eventually.
But as I look around, I start to feel a sense of unease.
Something feels off about this place.
It's as if I've stumbled into a world that's hidden from the rest of humanity. The dashboard clock reads 12:33 AM.
I hear footsteps crunching through fallen leaves behind my car.
My heart races faster as I fumble for the door locks, pressing them down frantically.
Through my side mirror, I catch a glimpse of a dark shape emerging from the dense fog behind my vehicle.
The figure walks with slow, purposeful steps toward my car.
I grip the steering wheel tighter as the dark figure approaches through the fog, their features hidden in shadow.
My windows are starting to fog up from my rapid breathing, making it harder to track their movement.
I fumble for the window controls, accidentally hitting the wipers instead.
They screech across the dry glass, drawing the figure's attention directly to me.
The sound seems deafening in the silent forest.
I shrink lower in my seat, desperately hoping they haven't seen me, but the figure changes direction, now walking purposefully toward my driver's side door.
The dashboard clock reads 12:33 AM.
I fumble with trembling fingers to release my seatbelt while keeping my eyes fixed on the approaching shadow.
The figure's heavy boots crunch closer through wet leaves, now only meters from my car.
My hand finds the trunk release lever beneath the steering wheel, and I grip it tightly, ready to create a distraction.
Through the fogged windows, I make out broad shoulders and what looks like a hunting rifle slung across their back.
My heart pounds as I count down in my head, timing my next move.
The figure stops five meters from my car, their face hidden in shadow beneath a wide-brimmed hat.
Moonlight glints off the rifle barrel as they slowly remove it from their shoulder.
My fingers tremble on the lever while I watch them deliberately check the weapon's chamber through my fogged windshield.
The clicking sound carries clearly through the night air.
Though my legs feel frozen, I shift them closer to the pedals, preparing to move.
"Don't even think about it," a gruff voice calls out, cutting through the tension like a knife.
I freeze, my eyes darting to the shadowy figure now standing just outside my window.
"You're not lost, are you?" they ask, their tone carrying an unsettling mix of curiosity and menace.