The Ruins

by Scott Smith

He had a gravity to him: he was calm, always calm. Someday, if all went according to plan, Amy imagined that this would be what would make him a good doctor. Or, at the very least, what would make people think of him as a good doctor.

Eric was looking forward to it. He liked drama, conflict, the rush and tumble of other people’s emotions.

Something strange was going on here, but Jeff was hoping that if they could just ignore it, it might not amount to anything. He knew this probably wasn’t the wisest course, yet it was the best he could come up with at the moment. So it would have to do.

He knew that being a child now, waiting for someone else to save him, would be as easy a way to die as any other.

“You’re saying there’s no point?” “None worth the risk.”

It was a good thing, having a task like this; he could feel it helping him. Just holding the knife in his hand seemed to clear his mind, sharpen his perceptions.

“I just…I don’t want to die here.” “Of course not. None of us do.” “But I might—don’t you think? All of us might.”

Jeff felt that weight again, that sense of resignation. It didn’t matter, he supposed. Why shouldn’t this be as good a place to die as any other?

“It will be whatever it is, no? Nothing, something—our believing one thing or another will matter not at all in the end.”