Submitted for the 2020 Stevens writing contest. I wrote this piece without much direction aside from contempt for the 9-5, work-till-you-drop culture within modern society. I won a Kindle Fire for this piece!

Walking into the shadow of Mount Olympus, for once I feel no fear. The hike to the mountain of glass and steel is usually daunting, but today I can see through the clouds that surround the peak. At the summit, beyond the hypocrites and their puppet masters, I can see the endless sky. I can see a way out.

Just as the heavens have revealed themselves on this glorious day, so too has a fog lifted from my own eyes. I look at my fellow pilgrims in a new light. Caught like Ixion in one of Hermes’ contraptions, they do not yet see that the machine is one made to torture them. They continue to ride the flaming wheel as if it were a carousel, and their lives were neverending. Each day, as I rode the carousel with them, I only felt disgust. When I saw the hope and joy in their eyes, my envy seeded hatred. But on this day of judgment I pity their ignorance.

Trudging along with the masses on this daily arrival to the mountain, I begin to climb the first steps. I turn my gaze from the mesh of bars and windows that towers over us, to the faces of my neighbors. Since before I was grown I have shared in the punishment of these people, and over the years I learned their stories, while creating my own. On this, my final day, the tales flash into my mind like myths of old.

A few feet ahead of me, a man holds his head unusually high. There is still hope, thinks he, that a commoner may be elevated to the position of deity. Perhaps he is right, for he has become Narcissus. He is consumed with success, but only his own. One day, he will receive the same fate as the God of Self Absorption, but no one can worship the flowers the laid upon their grave.

At the top of the stairs, I let my eyes wander skyward one more time. The sky seems so close, and the mountain so insignificant. It is a wonder how it took me this long to get here.

Through the revolving doors I catch the eyes of another pilgrim. In his pupils I see the story of Prometheus, I can see the fire taken from the Gods. He creates endlessly and seeks only to improve the world. It saddens me that will be punished by those above him, as they continue their never-ending search for profit. He turns into a stairwell along with a sizeable portion of the diaspora.

I try not to let my mind linger on his fate. Too many great lives are spent living through the hell of mediocrity and servitude. As the elevator doors close, a hand lunges through the crack at the last moment. The already cramped space lets out a few groans but ultimately accommodates for the intruder. Through the slender gap I see Sisyphus. As the box is hoisted through the spine of Mount Olympus it becomes lighter and lighter. About halfway up, it is only me, Sisyphus and a few more high achieving pilgrims. The distinction is that this man has stepped on the backs of others, and tricked them into helping him reach this elevation. His arrogance and blissful smile prove that he believes he can get away with whatever he wants. Of course he remains, after the others have reached their altitude. Before I would have been jealous of his journey to the top floor, corner office, but today I am going higher. My mind has found the truth, and my eyes can see his boulder. Everyday, he heaves it to the executive board room, but when the clock strikes 5:00, it plummets towards the river Styx, waiting at the foot of the mountain until 9:00 the next morning He thinks that meaning is hidden in the six figures, but one day he will see his boulder.

The elevator opens on the top floor, I exit alongside Sisyphus. Those who wander the hall send puzzled glances toward me, but I do not meet them. I waltz past the cubicles and offices towards the end of the hall. One must imagine Sisyphus happy, of course, But I know this self-prescribed contentment is always short lived.

As the door swings open, I step forward with no hesitation. With each step the sunlight grows brighter. Upon the summit I feel lighter. It is empty except me, I guess the ancient stories of Gods on Mount Olympus were lies after all. I look out towards the endless horizon and begin my stroll to the edge. Gazing down, I can almost see Charon and his boat, but I think I’ll aim for the river instead.

Suddenly, the air is speeding past my ears. Before it deafens me, I thought I heard a cry, but it couldn’t have been for me. As I float down the Mountain of steel and glass, I pause to appreciate the view from halfway down. No one knows what waits for us, but very few get to say they made the choice to leave this realm. It occurs to me that I forgot to bring my wings, but the river is growing bigger now, it seems I didn’t need them. The cool breeze and mist from the water make me drowsy. It becomes harder and harder to hold my eyes open. I have a long journey ahead of me, I think, a short rest can’t hurt. I am now close enough to see the whites of Charon’s eyes, but in their place is only a void. I let my eyelids fall, I whisper my goodbyes.