Julius Kolyvski

one must imagine sisyphus sweating, not fully dripping but enough that the shorter hair on the side of his head is slicked to the skin. half out of breath from pushing the boulder up the hill, with a faraway look in his eyes in his brief moment of rest at the top. his shirt halfway unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up right above the elbow to not interfere with his task, thick black hair on his chest and forearms spilling out over damp, sticky skin. skin a bit darkened by the grime of pushing a rock up through dirt and mod, some grime underneath his fingernails too, broad nails on broad fingers. a stocky man well built for his eternal labor. uncut, a little on the thick side. a bitter smell from the sweat and grime he never gets to really wash off, a thick beard only combed with his fingers. the moment passes and the boulder crashes down at the bottom of the hill, and he trudges back down, alone