Sisyphus in Pieces—Injustice
“The gods are such slobs,” Sisyphus groused, leaning on the rock. They’d been over this ground before, but Sisyphus found it comforting.
“I never did think much of them, and they’re not giving me any reason to change my mind. They’re not even good housekeepers. Filthy—look at this.” He held up his dirty hands and gestured toward his chiton.
“And look at you. Disgusting.”
He brushed a film of dust off the rock’s surface. The finer particles hung like an omen before settling slowly to the basin floor.
“It’s not right for them to stick me here in an anteroom without a word. If they’re going to torture me, they should get on with it. How many eons do I have to wait in this goddamn limbo before they remember me? Incompetent, the lot of them. Waste of my time.”
Still grumbling, he spat on his hands, put his shoulder to the rock, and heaved. The basin echoed with “Pointless” and “Bastards” as he made his way around, grunting at every push. He could manage another few laps before the light faded.
+++++
slowly, slowly
shadows creep down the wall
cup of tea