Part I: The Rock & Roll King
The tall, thin ghost of a king gasped in pause halfway up the cliffside, calloused hands planted firmly on his craggy old boulder, weighing the risks to wipe the salty sweat off his sun-squinted eyes. He looked at his raisin-wrinkled arms and down to his loose tattered tunic. He anchored his sinewy legs into a lunging braced position that wedged his right knee deep into this mighty rock ahead. He breathed quickly in and out, getting ready for his next maneuver. He had done this many times before with mixed results. The trick was to ensure his footing was dug under, not on top of, all of this loose shalestone. Then, he would lean forward hard to lay his left forearm flush and low against the boulderface. Next, one last jutting wedge of his knee for stability, then heave with all his godly might.
The stone-skinned immortal, named Sisyphus, let out a large cry from sharp pain in his spine. And the burning embers inside his thighs matched the heat from his sun-scorched skin. He slowly lifted his right hand into the air, while ignoring a drop of blood twisting its way down his knee. And with the grace of a swooping osprey, Sisyphus sponged his forearm across his sweaty brow for one sweet moment of fleeting relief. Heaven.
One tiny remission from his task. One small break from this stubborn rock and that impassable ridge. It wasn’t much of a relief, and hardly worth the pain it caused in his knee. But he still sighed to mark the moment of something different. A small treasured moment, to store in the treasure chest he kept in his mind’s castle. A new addition to his fortress of hope.
As he lingered, his revels betrayed him, and his feet skidded out along the loose pebbles. Left knee now pestling into gravel, he fumbled to get both hands anchored firm again, as the boulder ploughed him two meters down the mountainside. His feet cut into sharp stone, and his ankles twisted about, as he lost another three meters. Down and down he went, before finally swinging around in desperation, slamming his back flat into his terrible boulder and bringing her retreat to a halt.
“Dammit, me!” Sisyphus yelled, peering down the gravity well of the basin, where his rock longed to be. Hours of the day lost, but could’ve been worse. He looked over his shoulder up, up and up, towards the ridge. Although he had failed many times for countless years to reach that spiny crest, he saw up there his life’s longing, his most desired ambition.
Was it the longing for relief? Maybe. The desire for finality? He wasn’t sure. But his days were filled by the dreams of what awaited at that summit. The chance to let the boulder rest, the chance to push it down the other side. Damned be Zeus, maybe there would just be another higher mountain on the other side. But still, it would be something new, a break from this routine.
The god king Sisyphus shuffled his feet upwards through razer-blade shale flakes. His setback had attracted the ravens, always there to feed off his failure, circling and cawing their taunts into his unprotected ears.
“Kraa-kraa, failed again, Sisyphus!” Their throaty cries mocked. “Kraa-kraa, it’s only a matter of time before you drop this one. Kraa. Why do you even try? Kra-Kraa-kra, there is nothing at the top! Surrender and sleep, Sisyphus, sleeeeep!!”
He’d sometimes wave them off, or spit at them as they pecked away at his neck and ribs. But today, he just endured and pushed his boulder a little further. Afterall, he’s had worse tormentors in his many lives. Worse naysayers to shrug off. And things in general, had been and could be worse.
Sisyphus busied himself back up the familiar path, changing small grips, making small footing attunements, shifting his weight around. To pass the time, he started to recall the moments that got him here and the lesson he was meant to learn.
“For cheating death, I sentence you to an eternity of rolling this boulder up a mountain, ever failing, for all of time”, Zeus had proclaimed. It all seemed a large overaction, Sisyphus thought. Had he really cheated? Or was the god of gods just being sensitive because he had outsmarted them all?
When he made that deal with some river god, all seemed fair and agreed upon. Sisyphus gave up something precious that Zeus had hidden away and only he knew about. He knew Zeus’ secret, but never really swore an oath to keep it. So he gave it over in exchange for endless prosperity in his life. Heavy rains for his lands, bountiful harvests, countless riches for his kingdom, that sort of thing. River gods had a way with water, afterall. Seemed to be a fair enough trade.
Well, Zeus didn’t take it well, but how was that cheating death? If anything he was guilty of greed, but as king, he planned to share it all. If that was a crime, where were the millions of other kings of humanity along this mountain? Where were their boulders? Had Zeus confused the two things, desire for prosperity and desire for immortality? Wouldn’t be the first person, I suppose.
Sisyphus shook off his dwelling in the past, his replays never really got him anywhere. He decided to play a different game to pass the time, recalling the many lives his spirit had experienced, drifting through different people in this task, and sharing his torment with other mortals through the ages. He went back to a previous thought, just a moment ago, “Things had been and could be worse”. Indeed, it was true. Like the time he had lived the life of that odd little twenty-first century tech executive, stuck in perpetual unemployment in a down economy.
Part II: A Fate Far More Tedious
The tales of Sisyphus and his torment were spread far and wide through the ages of man. All would know of the cost for cheating death. Or for betraying a god? Or, for making a clever prison break, maybe? Actually not many people really understood what the moral of his story was. And many were left scratching their heads to understand if the punishment truly fit the crime. Every day this disgraced king of old was humiliated to push the same boulder up a mountain painfully, begrudgingly, thanklessly, ending each day in failure and frustration.
And each and every time, he would find only the small flicker of hope as he neared the crest of this impassable mountain. Only to feel the boulder slip from his hands, inevitably, as he lamented its rolling descent back to the beginning. Countless times, over and over… forever. Why would he climb back down? Why would he start over? Why expect a different result at each try? Why would he not give up forever? Only Sisyphus knew.
Woe was the bane of King Sisyphus. And each ascending attempt was a little different, each a little trickier than the last. Sometimes he would make it halfway, sometimes he’d slip just at the ridge. Sometimes he would spend all day just getting the boulder started. He had even tried running up the path alone to see what was over that blasted ridge, but would slip and get yanked back by some invisible tether. So he would sigh, dust himself off, and try again.
Only he knew why, it was said. Well, that was only a half truth. For it was his duty to not just suffer this one failed assignment, but to share this pain with millions of others throughout time, those who have ever felt as he did at a thankless task.
And that is why Sisyphus often amused himself, phasing into other people’s lives, like throwing on a movie, to see what other souls he was tangled up in. And they were quite amusing tales indeed. Like the man serving an innocent man’s sentence in solitary confinement for over twenty years. Although compared to a boulder, that was a piece of cake. There was also the one poor soul trapped in a collapsed foxhole during WWII, spending months trying to dig his way through dead enemy soldiers and fallen comrades. At last that man had purpose and an end goal in sight. And who could forget the misery he had witnessed across five years, spent married to a Hollywood actress. That was truly miserable. Can you imagine?
Many lives Sisyphus had spent hopping from his one boulder to someone else’s. And through them all, perhaps the worst one still was the two years he spent as that absurdly stubborn, ungratefully successful businessman. Maybe it wasn’t the worst in terms of torture and suffering, but it was the one that confounded his senses the most, and shook his very notions of happiness. And he had been a king of vast riches in his own day. So it was really saying something that he was confounded the most by this one man named Will, the king of his era, whom he found himself returning to often.
Sisyphus learned a lot about the twenty-first century and the western world through the lens of Will. He was the epitome of modern lavishness, the people of this time. Everyone had an incredible sense of individualism and self-obsession. And convenience and entertainment were the riches of the day. And by that, everyone seemed convinced they were kings and queens, no matter their station.
But top of the food chain were the hustlers. The real royalty at this time, those who could imagine something and then just make it happen. The people that prized career and achievement above all else. And there was no better hustler than the ‘born from nothing’ career king named Will.
Will had more ambition than blood flowing through him. He was really good at influencing and leading large teams at the companies of the world. Which Sisyphus didn’t find too unfamiliar from his days of trying to lead by example as a generous king. And like the old Greek King, Will prided himself on being firm but fair. Equally respected and revered. His loyalty to others seemed to come with a shelf-life that spoiled in the wake of his goals. Or stated another way, he was endearing when he wanted to be. And a bit of a prick the rest of the time.
Will was a solo artist, able to pick up and move cities or countries at the drop of a hat in his pursuit to keep climbing the career ladder. He worked in the booming prosperity of the technology business, climbing the ranks to be a senior exec for one of the most valuable tech conglomerates in the world. In this era, the kings were not measured by their possessions or heritage so much as their accomplishments and abilities, it would seem. And Will’s resume of achievements was strong.
Will had carved out his track record for building teams, and leading them through trust and expertise, not sovereignty or power. He did not conquer armies or cities, but he expanded his empire by navigating complex challenges, gaining profit for his company, and thereby status. His kingdom was fully measured by his reputation and ability to achieve. Even though these called companies were not violent, make no mistake there were still conquests to be had. And wealth and luxury often followed from the spoils of these victories. Some things never change with kings.
So imagine Will’s sense of shock and betrayal, at the peak of his kingdom, the peak of his conquests, almost infallible in his conquests, that he suddenly found himself without job or title. He wouldn’t be the first king to fall from grace, or be mutinied against. But Will still found a unique betrayal in knowing the world’s economic tides had taken an unforeseen turn that knocked him into a state he had never known. Helpless and unemployable. Sisyphus knew immediately why he had been summoned into this man’s life. And recognized immediately the long, thankless road that laid ahead, even if Will did not yet.
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Paul Carreo 