The Lack of Humility

Beams of sun shone into Harland’s room on the that morrow as excruciating as daggers pierced the chest. It penetrated his retinas in an uncomfortable way, and was too blinding to be blocked out by his sealed eyelids. Reluctantly, he submitted to the ray’s declaration that day had begun, and opened his eyes. 

Judging by the angle the sun suffused the room, it was relatively early in the morning: far earlier than when he normally would wake up. Walking over to the water basin in a sleepy daze, he splashed chilly water onto his face and then patted it dry with a nearby towel. After taking several minutes to dress, he descended down the stairs rather quickly and yet softly in order to not awaken the rest of the household. When he did reach the kitchen, however, he realized he was one of the last ones down, and that his endeavors to keep quiet had come to no point. 

“Good morning, Harland.” His sister, Rosanna, smiled daintily at him. She had already subtly consumed a small portion of her breakfast. It amazed Harland how any growing girl of fourteen could contain any type of ravenous appetite; at her age, he could remember eating three times her daily portions. 

The young man of about twenty cleared his throat, “Hello, Rosanna.” He sat down next to his father and summoned one of the servants. “You there, quickly bring me some breakfast.” 

“I do wish you would be nicer to the servants.” His mother commented to him as she tore a piece off her biscuit and rolled it into a morsel before eating it.

“I assure you, Mother, you will find no humbler a man than I.” Replied her son pleasantly before turning to the servant bringing him his meal, “No, no, I do not wish to have coffee this morning. Take it away! Bring me tea instead.” 

His mother watched her son carefully before declaring quietly, “ You are quite right, I am much mistaken.” Harland did not pick up on the tinted sarcasm in his mother’s voice, and continued eating, also not noting the glance shared between his parents and sister. 

Harland stirred sugar into his drink whilst twirling a natural dark ringlet around his finger. His equally dark eyes watched the turning hazel-colored whirlpool which was his tea.