He was a broken man. Everything to his name, lost. Ever since being proclaimed by mostly everyone as being the leader of the streets outside of some slight rabble who prayed to a false idol, Sisyphus had struggled to remain in the limelight. Between the sneers of those calling him names behind his back, to the rocks thrown at his head every time he attempted to speak; there was very little in the way of love coming the way of who should have been adored by all. Playing behind casinos against the man they only spoke of as House was what he starting using in an attempt to fill in this hollow feeling in his heart.

"I rolled a 960. That'll be 15 credits."

It was his final fifteen. After this there would be no more, but he couldn't leave it alone. Clenching his fists into a ball, he threw down another batch of the sweet, succulent, Godly morsels and waited for House to take them into his terribly strong arms. Sometimes Sisyphus would steal a glance or two of the man as he would throw out the dice; the veins glistening in his muscles and then nearly popping from how hard he would hold onto the pair before letting go. They would bounce around playfully for a moment or two, almost in slow motion, before a silence filled the air and then...

"308 to 211. You're out. Anything else?"

Fuck. Rain began to pour in an almost melodramatic display to the point where you would believe this was a written story instead of something happening in real life, now, as it was. Which it was. Sisyphus' pain was all too real, and having fallen from graces in the streets and being reduced to that of a pauper, he appeared once more in the place that shirked him before.

Hello, streets. Are you... listening? It's me, Sisyphus. I've returned.

Just then, the rain stopped. The sun sprang from out behind the dirty clouds and all for a moment in the world was alright. This played muse to his mind and he began to speak from the heart about something which had long been on his thoughts-- the subject of what he was sure would become a conversation for the ages, of the ages, and to the ages.

Why do we keep going? What is your drive? Why do you continue? Is it all worth it?

It was a big strong question from a big strong man, and all that he could do to keep the thoughts of retirement at bay. In his imagination swirled the vivid picture of pushing his children on a tire on a big tree in the suburbs of some large city, it was enough to make tears well up into his eyes. Yet he did not have a child, nor a tree, and he couldn't afford to live in the suburbs; not yet. This is why he had put a four point plan in place, and the first point was to start a conversation. This one however wasn't gathering enough people. He was doing it all wrong. Everyone seemed to be playing relatively nicely lately, and this was no good for his bottom line.

Hey you... you... people. I don't care much for how any of you are acting right now. Want to know why? Cause I bet none of you can even answer me this question. Converse with me, you cowards. Tell me what it is you think is so special about this place, if you DARE. I bet you won't even be able to do that. Pfffsh.

This was perfect. Controversy sold, and this would surely bring in at least one person to argue with him. Yet another genius plan from the Sisyphus' Playbook (trademarked).

"This was perfect. Controversy sold, and this would surely bring in at least one person to argue with him. Yet another genius plan from the Sisyphus' Playbook (trademarked)."

On the contrary - I'm the first person to discuss this with you, and I am in full agreement.  

Kirsty, you see, I tried. I put everything into crafting the finest debate one could muster onto these streets, and as you can see my only compatriots to have joined me are these three crickets who I have aptly named No, One, and Cares. Their little feet bring me much joy as they sing the songs of their people proudly out here in this veritable wasteland.

Setting down the crickets he watched as they slowly hopped away from him back into the wilderness where they belong. It was time for Sisyphus to return to his roots. There were stories to tell; fantasies, if you would. His very own life story needed to be thrust out onto the streets for all to look at in full display of its glory, no gory detail would be left out... except for the gore, he didn't want to make people sick.

Debating, it just was not for me. Like the crickets, I too must play my song.

Pressing his lips up against a small wooden instrument he had pulled from out of his pocket only a few seconds ago, he made the most beautiful sounds while walking off into the distance. Stopping for only a moment, he looked back with a yearning gleam in his eyes-- was he making a mistake? No. The mistake was not following his heart in the first place.

Goodbye, Debating. Tooo tooo tooo tooo doooooo.

...and just like that, he was gone.