Flash Fiction
The Laughter of Sisyphus
The collective sigh of a million souls
I’m standing at the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge, watching the East River swallow the sunlight in shimmering gulps. My hands grip the cold, iron railing as if they’re the last tether to reality. The city behind me thrums with the indifferent heartbeat of a giant, and I wonder if anyone would notice another soul slipping into its concrete maw. The question isn’t who would miss me but whether I’ve ever been here.
I laugh, which startles a pigeon perched on the next baluster. It’s not a joyous laugh. It’s more the kind that escapes when the absurdity of it all sinks in. I think about Sisyphus, eternally pushing his boulder up a hill, and I wonder if he ever just laughed at the sheer pointlessness of it. I imagine he did. Maybe that’s where his strength came from.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I get a text from my sister. ”Mom wants to know if you’re coming to dinner tomorrow.” The familial tether, frayed and worn, still holds. I haven’t decided if it’s enough to keep me from diving into the unknown below, but it’s a thread nonetheless. I can almost taste the irony: the man contemplating his existence while receiving mundane reminders.
A gust of wind rips through my coat, bringing with it the scent of rain. The city blurs as my eyes water, not from tears but from the bitter, biting wind. The water below looks less inviting now, a churning abyss rather than a silent escape. I think about the day my father left us when he walked out with a suitcase and never looked back. I promised myself I’d never be like him. Yet I am teetering on the edge, considering the same silent goodbye.
I laugh again, but it catches in my throat, turning into a cough. The absurdity of it all is too much to bear. I pull out my phone and text, “Tell Mom I’ll be there.” The decision feels as surreal as the thoughts that brought me here. It’s not a heroic return to the land of the living, but it’s something.
I step back from the edge, feeling the weight of the city press against me, the collective sigh of a million souls lost and found. The river continues its relentless flow, indifferent to my fleeting presence. I’m still laughing as I walk back into the city, a laugh that feels like Sisyphus pushing his boulder, not up a hill, but through the crowded streets of New York. The boulder is still heavy, but maybe, just maybe, there’s strength in the laughter.
I turn into the subway entrance, descending into the city’s underworld. The train screeches to a halt, and I step in, the doors closing behind me with a finality that feels almost comforting. I sit down, looking at the faces around me, each one a universe of stories I’ll never know. The train lurches forward, and I close my eyes, letting the rhythm of the tracks soothe the chaos in my mind.
And there, in the dim, flickering light of the subway car, I find a strange solace. Maybe it’s the promise of dinner tomorrow or the absurdity of the laugh that lingers on my lips, but for the first time in a long time, I feel a glimmer of something that might be hope. As the train hurtles through the darkness, I whisper, “Tomorrow, I’ll try again.”
Ani Eldritch 2024
