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.

with water, bug spray, sunscreen, food. Sometimes he felt he was the only one of them who knew how to move through the world.

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.

“If you’re not careful, you can reach a point where you’ve made choices without thinking. Without planning. You can end up not living the life you’d meant to. Maybe one you deserve, but not one you intended.” Here he wagged his finger again. “Make sure you think,” he said. “Make sure you plan.”

There were so many rules to remember. No wonder people ended up in places they’d never chosen to be.

At

the top of the hill, they’d find the ruins.

He was up in an instant, pointing at the spot where the snake had disappeared, chattering in Greek, dancing from foot to foot, a look of horror on his face. Apparently, he had a fear of snakes.

He liked drama,

conflict, the rush and tumble of other people’s emotions.

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