Not Exactly Sisyphus

Feb 07, 2007 16:45

He pushes his burden up the hill. Every time, it rolls back down, and he must chase after it, all the interminable way to the bottom. His limbs grow heavy, his lungs and back ache horribly, but he rolls it up the hill.

It's not always the same hill - there are several of them, all there in their ring that has become the whole of his afterlife - so he can choose which one to push his burden up each time, from there, so very, very far below. And it grows so much larger, so heavier, with every trip up every hill. Sometimes even downward, when he's missed some of the things left on the hillside for him to pick up.

He keeps pushing it, because it is what he was condemned to do. But not, perhaps, for all eternity.

Some day, he hopes - he prays, with what little breath he can spare from the effort to keep pushing - some day, perhaps the King of All Cosmos will be there at the top of the hill. He'll take the Katamari from him, and place it in the sky to form the last of the new stars that are needed to replace the ones that no longer burn in the heavens.

It's a small hope, but it's been enough to keep him going all this time.

fiction

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