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Betting on a sliver of hope, he kept lifting the stone, one step, then another, in relentless silence. When he reached the mountaintop, a hope that could never be reached flickered faintly in his chest. Ignoring Sisyphus, the stone simply rolled down, as it always did. "...I knew it would come to this. Oh well, back to the beginning again." Sisyphus silently watches the stone go. With this endless repetition, his body resonated, and a rhythm was eventually born. He might have been wrapped in a sense of relief, a quiet ecstasy lit on his face.