Sisyphus groaned as he leaned into the boulder.
The stone bit into his scarred flesh, blood welling from ancient wounds.
Just when he thought he couldn’t push any more, the boulder finally began to move uphill.
Every inch of motion was agony to Sisyphus’s soul, but he could not stop.
The Gods had stripped him of reason and logic, leaving him with just compulsion and suffering.
When he got to the top, Albert Camus slapped him on the back.
“Well done!” he said, and he pushed the boulder back down the hill.
Sisyphus screamed and chased it.
Camus laughed, jealously.