Sisyphus

Long before the sun’s dawn rays spotlight the new day I can hear the massive silences of the boulder and the mountain, taunting me yet again. It has been this way as long as I can remember. I awaken thinking of the boulder. I fall asleep at night reliving that day’s struggle with the mountain. At night, every night, all night long, in my mind I struggle to the top of the mountain only to see the rock careen into the valley below. I lie there, exhausted and bathed in sweat, praying for the sweet oblivion of sleep. Or death.

I can faintly recall, although it may have been just a dream, a happier time. A time before the stone and the mountain. I was king of Corinth. The gods were my equals, at best. Why even Hades was powerless to end my time. However, my pride, as I watched the slain soldiers return to their camps night after night because of me, was also my downfall. Or so it seems. It was all so very long ago. If it really happened at all. Perhaps it has always been this way.

Yet every morning I step up to the boulder and put my shoulder to it. The gods have taken away both life and death from me. For daring to match wits with them the gods have sought to destroy me. But being human I have the one thing that the gods will never possess. The one remnant that the first woman, the all-gifted, saved for mankind. The gods cannot obtain it nor take away. It provides solace to the suffering and strength to the weary. It is called hope.