Sisyphus descends a spiral staircase connecting heaven to hell. He’d been demoted at his job and now tasked with lugging a square boulder up and down the steps. Along the way, he encounters the ghost of Virgil who remarks that his situation had taken an abysmal turn. Sisyphus inquired if his situation was truly more futile than before. The task remained endless, yet rest proved monotonous for nothing would change and he’d lapse into ennui. Virgil guffawed and then gifted Sisyphus a clock so that he’d suffer equally in mind, body, and spirit.
One vanishing point. A road stretches into eternity for none have found its end. An old man gazes into its horizon, where rolling clouds under the ocean blue sky met the orange of the desert. Behind him belies an abode, closer to a memory than an actual home. This is where he began, where he first saw his own reflection. The vanishing point gazes back, tempting him to follow suit and push further than all the countless attempts of the past. Buried treasure awaits him at its end he thought; his eyes preserved the last of the road’s memory. Geared up for the long pilgrimage, the vanishing point moved itself just out of reach.