A standard plot device

"I wish you types would come across the desert at more opportune times," the bureaucrat said. He was aware of how horrid his occupation was to spell for writers, that mishmash of vowels thrown together by the French to annoy the British after the Normans conquered them. Being British, or at least part Welsh, it pained him to have to remember it.

"What would be a good time?" the boy asked. He eyed the man sitting behind the desk with suspicion. More so because the desk was sitting at least a quarter of a mile from any distinguishing objects on the empty plain. He was annoyed he had not simply angled a few degrees in either direction when Sisyphus and he had headed away from the former's mountain.

"Any time besides this. I'm very busy. Well, you're here," the man behind the desk said, "so you're going to have to fill these out." He handed a thick ream of triplicate to each of them.

"I can't read this," Sisyphus said.

"Are you illiterate?"

"No, it's just that the last thing I read was archaic Greek, at least I think that's what you would call it. I'm not sure what these funny marks are, but I can't read them."

The man sighed. He was not even deserving of a name besides "ungodly-word-no-one-can-spell behind the desk", yet here he was forced to interact with named characters, at least in Sisyphus' case. "Do you speak Spanish?"

"No, what's that?"

"I have modern Greek," the man said with a raised eyebrow.

Sisyphus examined the proffered sheets. "Hmm. Phoenician. Close enough." He became engaged with the act of rapid scribbling across the paper.

"What's this word?" the boy asked the man who was becoming rather flustered.

"'Institutional'."

"What's that mean?"

"It means... wait, are you a minor?"

"What's that mean?"

"It means, it means that you are underage." A blank stare. "Too young."

"Too young for what?"

"To fill out these forms. Is this man your parent or legal guardian?" Sisyphus and the boy, having quickly picked up the pattern, glanced at each other and nodded. "Well, then he is the only one who has to fill out these forms."

"In that case we are done," Sisyphus said as he handed the forms back to the man.

"Really?" The man behind-oh fuck it. He was surprised. Usually it took quite some time to fill out all the forms required. "In that case, proceed."

The two walked a ways beyond the desk in the middle of the desert before the boy asked in a conspiratorial whisper, "What where the forms all about?"

"I have no idea," Sisyphus said. "I can't read a word of Phoenician beyond 'lavatory' and 'brothel'."

"Then how did you fill them out?"

"I doubt he can either."

Blatant Antagonist

The Lord of Snakes followed the boy across the endless plain.

He knew where the boy was heading, which was odd since the boy didn't know himself. So sure he was of the boy's intentions he strode with ease, even whistling a little ditty to himself. Serpents, rattlers and the like, paid him homage as he trod, yet he paid his good and faithful servants no mind except to occasionally crush a bowed head into the dirt with glee. He giggled as their tiny skulls crunch-squished into the desert dust.

"Hisssss," they cried as he passed.

He stuck out his forked tongue in acknowledgment, and stepped on another.

the boy and Sisyphus

The boy walked across the open plain, dust trailing, and came upon a mesa. As he rested in the shade of a nearby boulder he observed a man pushing a large rock up a dry wash that led up the mount. The man was obviously struggling, and it seemed that...

...Yes, he lost the rock, and it came back down the slope, the man following behind, tumbling end over end, having lost his balance at the same time he lost his grip. With a shudder the rock came to a rest against the boulder the boy was resting under, enraptured by the tableau of man against gravity. The man gave a rather audible sigh, and brushing his knees off, sauntered over to the rock. He gave a nod to the boy.

"What are you doing?" the boy asked.

"Why I'm trying to roll this boulder to the top of this mountain," the man replied, giving the boy a look as if this was strangest thing anyone had ever asked of him.

"Why?'

"Because I... you know, I'm not quite sure why. Do you know?" The boy, having just arrived in the vicinity, shook his head. "Well, that's odd, I can't imagine why I'd want to keep doing this." He sat down next to the boy, who proffered his canteen. The man took it and drank long, with ferocity. Water trailed down his neck as he suddenly remembered that he needed it, and he gripped the canteen tightly as he chugged as if it would be the first in and the last for a long time.