Sisyphus in Pieces III—Assets and Liabilities
He could dismiss the basin floor; there was nothing in it for him but rock dust.
The surrounding cliffs, on the other hand, weren’t as sheer as he’d thought. A closer look showed him cracks and crevices wandering up their faces, sometimes above solid ground, sometimes over the abyss. Higher and higher they rose until they were out of sight.
Sisyphus spat. What kind of fool did the gods take him for? He knew a trap when he saw it. They’d let him climb almost to freedom, then send him tumbling down. He couldn’t use the cliffs.
What were his resources, what were his resources? He paced as his mind worked. (Gold gleamed where his spit had disturbed the dust. His next step erased it.)
The knoll rose in front of him. He eyed it, unimpressed. At least it was something to look at. Whatever he’d expected of hell, it wasn’t nothing. He’d expected agony. Instead he had no reason to feel anything.
Just boredom.
At the knoll’s base sat the rock. Restlessly he began looking it over. He’d dismissed it the first day, but it now it caught his attention. There was something comforting in it. He understood its scale. He could loom over it.
He sat with his back to it, weighing schemes and possibilities, until night came again. Then he lay down beside it, mustering bright memories against the dark. As he closed his eyes, he reached out absently and gave it a pat.
+++++
snow in the desert
the cactus and the rabbit
both look soft