S. (IV)

How might I go about this differently? Is there a better way?

He spun the gears of his mind through all the possibilities he could think of. He was so tired that his thoughts dissolved in the distance like the solidity of the hill's top into the haze of the air's humidity.

Though the physical exertion had for the moment ceased, he found no rest in the thinking. A different kind of pushing.

He was so, so weary of so much pushing.

S. (III)

The sun shone brightly high above. He closed his eyes, breathed deep, felt the sun's warmth on his skin.

He wished he could take pleasure in this moment.

As soon as he began to work the rock, he knew, he would curse that same sunshine, as the sweat began to pour down.

Nonetheless. He needed to get the work done. It was his task. Until he succeeded, he would not quit.

S. (II)

It was a beautiful day. The sun shone brightly high above, and he wished he could just sit and enjoy its warmth. If he could finally get the rock over the crest of the hill, his toils would be done and he could rest. He could bathe in the sun's light.

He could hear children playing in the fields nearby. He envisioned watching them from the top of the hill after his work was done. I would take pleasure in that, he thought. A pale ache bloomed around his heart and he fought back tears.


He sat atop the rock that was his bane and considered. He could not remember ever being so exhausted. He could not remember much of anything, really, nothing but this rock and this hill and pushing that felt endless and the frustrating failure that beset him again and again just as success seemed imminent.

How might I go about this differently, he pondered.