Boulder Of Sisyphus - Tumblr Posts

One must imagine Sisyphus happy, the voice says as I walk down to the well. It echoes against the walls, empty and wet in that peculiar way in which voices only echo in a cave, this deep, dark loneliness that chills you to the bone. One must imagine Sisyphus happy, it whimpers from very far away; my knuckles are rubbed red as they tie the bucket to the rope, and send it down below, and fill it with water. But I know Sisyphus. Who cares if he's happy? He was a bad man, but first he was a child, but first he was a man. What does it matter know, when the boulder rolls up and when it all falls down? I pull the bucket up, and fill my amphora ; watch the blood where I ripped my finger nails drip through and taint the water red. Something about eternity, I suppose. One must imagine Sisyphus happy, is the rule, but I hear him scream out every day, and he deserves it so much I am glad, and I pity him so much I could cry. And no one really cares if you are able to convince yourself that he could learn to love this endless, aimless task, and I could scream all my despair to the well and the well will never answer me; nothing changes around here, only the mind of those that are trapped, and that empty, violent freedom to imagine your neighbour is happy. Maybe one day it will be too much; perhaps, one day, it will be enough. For now I carry my amphora and feel it emptying and look for my sister. One must remember I'm a murderer. Plic, ploc. The water drips through.