In the depths of the underworld, the sun never rose nor set. Time was marked by the rhythm of a solitary figure, ceaselessly laboring.

This was Sisyphus, cursed to roll a massive boulder up a steep hill, only for it to roll back down when it neared the summit. A punishment that was to last for eternity.

But if anyone expected Sisyphus to be a picture of despair, they would be mistaken. His eyes held a spark of determination and, surprisingly, contentment.

He approached his task every day with a sense of purpose, his muscles straining against the weight of the boulder, sweat dripping from his brow.

Each time the rock tumbled down, Sisyphus followed, his feet steady against the uneven ground. He would start again, never showing signs of frustration.

He found joy in the struggle, in the feel of the rock against his palms, in the exertion of his muscles. The task was arduous, yes, but it was his.

Sisyphus accepted his fate, not as a punishment, but as a way of life. He discovered happiness in acceptance and in the pursuit of his task.

He found a rhythm in the cycle of pushing and falling, in the constant, unwavering repetition. It was a dance, a symphony of strength and determination.

His task gave him a purpose and a sense of fulfillment. He was not a prisoner of his fate; he was the master of his destiny.

The struggle itself was enough to fill a man's heart, Sisyphus believed. And so, he was happy, not in spite of his task, but because of it.

He was not a victim, but a warrior. Not a cursed soul, but a symbol of resilience. He was Sisyphus, the one who found happiness in the unending struggle.

He embodied the human spirit that, no matter the odds, finds a way to persist, a way to endure, a way to be content.

He was a beacon, a reminder that happiness is not found in the destination, but in the journey. Not in the achievement, but in the pursuit.

Each day was a testament to his unyielding spirit. Each push of the boulder, a declaration of his resolve. Each fall, a promise of rise.

He found solace in the constancy of his task, in the knowledge that no matter what, the boulder would always be there, waiting for him.

He found peace in the predictability of his fate, in the understanding that his task was unchanging, his purpose unwavering.

He found joy in the effort, in the strain of his muscles, in the sweat on his brow, in the grit under his nails.

He found happiness in the struggle, in the perpetual cycle of push and fall, rise and repeat.

He was Sisyphus, the happy one. The one who found joy in the mundane, peace in the routine, fulfillment in the struggle.

He was Sisyphus, who took a curse and made it his blessing. Who took an eternal punishment and made it his purpose.

He was Sisyphus, a symbol of relentless determination, of unwavering resilience, of unfaltering contentment.

And so, even in the darkest corner of the underworld, amidst the eternal echoes of toil, a light shone brightly. The light of a happy Sisyphus.

His story was not one of despair, but of hope. Not of defeat, but of victory. Not of punishment, but of purpose.

His story was a reminder that happiness is not a destination, but a journey. That it is not found in the absence of struggle, but in the midst of it.

Sisyphus, the happy one, found contentment in his eternal task. He found happiness, not in spite of his struggle, but because of it.

And so, even in the depths of the underworld, even amidst the monotony of an eternal task, one could find happiness. One could find joy. One could find purpose.

For it is not the task that defines us, but how we choose to approach it. It is not our fate that shapes us, but how we choose to face it.

Sisyphus chose to face his with a smile, with determination, with contentment. He chose to be happy. And so, he was.

In the depths of the underworld, amidst the echoes of eternal toil, the rhythm of a happy Sisyphus resonated, a symbol of unyielding spirit and unwavering determination.

His story serves as a reminder that happiness is not a gift bestowed upon us, but a choice we make, a perspective we adopt, a journey we embark on.

Just as Sisyphus found joy in his eternal task, we too can find contentment in our struggles, happiness in our journeys, fulfillment in our pursuits.

For if Sisyphus, the one cursed with an eternal task, can be imagined happy, so can we, amidst the ups and downs of our lives.

And so, in the depths of the underworld, Sisyphus continues his task, a beacon of determination, a symbol of resilience, a testament to the power of perspective.

In the rhythm of his toil, in the echo of his struggle, in the light of his contentment, we find a lesson of hope, of resilience, of happiness.

The tale of Sisyphus, the happy one, echoes through time, a timeless reminder that happiness is a choice, a journey, a perspective. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.