Tantalus threw back his head and out of his cracked throat sprang a stricken howl. Here he was, solitary and pathetic, condemned in Hades for his crimes in life. The fruit hung above him, suspended by emerald, leafy were round and tempting, the beautiful surfaces gleaming, perfect. Ruby apples, golden bananas, royal grapes, radiant oranges, lemons like the sun, every sort of fruit he had ever dreamed over and more, right there over his head. He was alone in the dank shadows, but there above him the most flawless and delicious fruit in existence hung, burning an image into his mind, glowing with a heavenly light. He felt the enticement in his mouth, and his tongue tingled with anticipation. The allure was too great; he reached up with trembling fingers, grasping the darkness, ready to close on the only thing the afterlife offered to him. The fruit quickly retreated, shrinking away as if it was afraid of him. He stood on the tips of his toes, shoulder aching, arm and fingers stretched as far as they could possible reach, and there it was, less than an inch away. He persisted, higher, higher, just a bit more...Right as his fingers might have brushed the bright cherry, it receded two feet more. He groaned.

Eternal suffering. Eternal anguish. His mouth demanded something. It needed the taste of that beautiful fruit. His body lusted for just one apple with every fiber of its being. He looked down, and there was the crisp water, a glorious aqua blue. In the scant like, it glimmering mysteriously, lapping at his legs as if telling him to bend down, take a drink; he was thirsty, wasn’t he? He was. He needed water now, or he would be in pain. His head would ache, his muscle would be sore, and his throat would shrivel up, cracking like desert soil. He bent down, and the water quickly ebbed away. Even the little drops clinging to his legs hastened off. The water paused a few feet away, as if taunting him: I’m right here, so come and get me. Heslunk forward, and matching his pace perfectly it backed away. He lunged desperately, smashing into the stone ground with a crack. He wearily stood up, and then, when he say what was above his head, moaned. It at first was only a cluster a fruit, but now it was a plethora, a glade, a forest. There had been one apple, but now there were ten. There was a living ceiling above him, radiating and glistening with dew. He snatched in vain, hitting only air. A spirit went by, one like himself, but not reduced to such a state; it had been a good enough soul to deserve no torture. The spirit glanced up at the wonderful, hateful fruit, inspecting them as if he was browsing a market. He picked the most succulent one off its vine—it gave way with no resistance of any kind. The spirit walked off with his prize, humming a little tune. And Tantalus, wretched, pitiful Tantalus, fell to the ground, weeping and licking up his own tears.