The Ruins

by Scott Smith

She was a gloomy person. She didn’t have the gift of happiness; somewhere along the way, someone had neglected to give it to her, and now she made everyone else suffer for her lack of it.

Or maybe your boyfriend's controlling and makes you miserable.

Sometimes he felt he was the only one of them who knew how to move through the world. He could tell that Eric was still half-drunk. Stacy’s nickname in college had been “Spacy,” and it was well earned.

Dude, you sprang this little adventure on them last minute.

They both knew who she was, how she’d rather be with the group, doing something she didn’t like, than alone, doing something she enjoyed.

Or maybe she feels pressured to be with the group or you shame her for wanting to be alone. Jeff sucks.

Jeff glanced toward them, he felt a sudden wavering. They shouldn’t go, he realized; it was a terrible idea.

Well, at least he had second thoughts.

Then the van arrived, and they were piling into it, one after another, and suddenly it was too late to speak with Mathias, too late not to go.

Is it though?

“Look at it,” he said. “Look at your name.” Stacy peered down at the piece of paper. It was her ticket; her name was printed on it. “Spacy Hutchins,” it said.

Not cool Eric.

Mathias was the reason they were here, after all. They’d be half-asleep on the beach right now if it weren’t for him.

You made your decision.

“Why is it my responsibility?” Jeff asked. “Why am I the one who was supposed to figure this whole thing out?”

Ohhh, I wanna punch Jeff.

He wondered if the signs would have any meaning to the Greeks, if they’d just walk right past them.

And the Mayans. You're forgetting the Mayans.