divinity will swallow you whole and spit you out, wine-dark and wanting. you will reach for it again, greedy human fingers clutching at everything you can reach. the divine will curl its way through your veins, take you over, and not leave you quiet...
WHAT CHANCE COMBINATION OF SHADOW AND SOUND AND HIS OWN THOUGHTS HAD CREATED IT?
IF THERE IS A TRICK, THERE MUST BE A TRICKSTER.
Trickster. The word clanged and shook in his head, perhaps that is what he was, perhaps he was a deceiver, at least he was clever. It was a mercy that he was no fool.
Sisyphus, the trickster. He used to laugh when they pitied him. Pity? He didn't need their pity. He had cheated death! He wanted to shout it to the world, how he, a mere king of Corinth, had tricked a God and chained him. Sisyphus had trapped the God of Death and with it he had trapped all souls in their mortal shells, never to die.
He was not laughing anymore.
His body ached but he could not stop. His fingers were bruised and bloodied from pushing this wretched rock uphill, again and again.
Sisyphus was not a God.
He had come crashing back to earth from his high and found everything around him burnt to rubble.
He was no God.
Escaping failure will never be a solution, it wasn't one for poor Sisyphus and it won't be one for anyone else.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
