The Man in the Elevator: A Modern Sisyphus
By Anju Devadas RD
Each morning, he presses the button.
Up. Floor seventeen.
A thermos of burnt coffee, a tie like a noose he tied himself.
The doors open like reluctant eyelids.
He walks through a cubicle maze
where dreams go to retire.
His inbox refills like a tide with no moon to blame.
He deletes. Replies. Drafts. Deletes again.
Lunch is a microwave hum
and scrolling through other people’s vacations.
At five, he presses the button again. Down.
He is not free, just temporarily untasked.
The stone hasn’t rolled down
He brings it back in the shape of routine.
He tells himself there is virtue in motion.
That maybe tomorrow, the mountain will open.
But there is no summit, only stairs
Redrawn each night in fluorescent ink.
Some call it purpose.
He calls it Tuesday.
Anju Devadas R.D. is guest faculty at the University of Pondicherry in Puducherry, India.