Pursuit of Modesty

This is Humility's 'How's my driving post'. If you have questions, concerns, would like to offer criticism regarding his characterisation, or want to plot, feel free to contact me via IM/Email (info can be found on the profile page) or leave a comment here.

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I give. You were right from the start and I was wrong.

Now it's out and we can all smile and laugh and be happy forever and always.

In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return. (Genesis 3:19)

Fast, abstain, repent. Forty days - it's not that hard.

Having made his fair share of questionable choices himself in the past, Humility is in no position to question the choices of others. They all make their own mistakes and bear the consequences. Sometimes they learn something; sometimes they don't. It's the way things are - at least, for him.

But Anna is not part of that bent and crooked learning curve of his. Anna just is. A fleeting presence in the beginning, she is slowly becoming a constant presence in this... in his life. Even when she is not there. Her arm pressed against him, her fingers laced with his, crisp winter air touching their faces - her untouchable sadness speaks to his loneliness.

Anton does not pretend to know what Anna wants, but, for the first time since forever, he is silently offering... everything?

Attachment? Perhaps.

Permanent? Nothing ever is. All they ever do is collect small moments of somethings.

The day to commemorate those in Heaven has passed and bled into the day to commemorate the faithful departed. Those caught in Purgatory. He walks a bit with a young man who's on his way to the cemetery to visit his wife. Guilt is weighing down on the mortal's shoulders - misplaced guilt and the man knows it. But knowing and believing are not the same thing.

Humility let him walk the rest of the way alone, knowing he can offer neither help nor comfort at this point. Today has been a chance encounter and the Virtue hopes that all future encounters will be the same; hopes there will never be a reason for them to meet.

( [Sent to Anatole] )

Here, then there, then back here again. The crowds are still the same, the sounds are still the same - the doubts, the fears, the ambition, the dreams. Humility arrives at the apartment with the beautifully blank walls and bare living-room and does not quite know what to do. So he cleans himself up because there is always comfort in routine no matter how meaningless the action may be and settles down in the kitchen with a pot of tea.

Picking up his phone, he dials Anna's number. He has no desire to be here. However, she has asked for his company, and it is hard if not downright impossible for this Virtue to turn such a request down. Loneliness is a wide-spread disease these days. Worse than any other disease, it drives people mad and she is too nice...

[Phone Call]
Hello, Anna? It's Anton.

He hasn't looked back since he's started walking. Has had no reason to, has not wanted to. He has been patient and waited and waited and waited. However, even he has a limit because he is not Patience. So Humility walks, moves forward towards somewhere else. His thoughts touch briefly on the girl called Anna - the origami girl who's had snow in June - and on Chas whom he should have called before leaving. The angel's visit still puzzles him but he tries not to think about it too much as his feet carry him farther and farther away from this new world's Babylon.

Maintaining a safe distance no longer matters. Keeping those he holds dear close no longer matters. Nothing matters because nothing ever has or ever will.


Bad things do not only happen to good people; they happen to everyone. All the time, all over the world - like death.

Four are gone. The last of which had sat in his living-room not so long ago and... there is no and. The noise becomes too much. The sight of empty space caged within four walls filled with age-old thoughts - too much. Listening to the screaming in his head, all the whys he's never voiced hit the back of his throat and Humility bottoms out.

She: Let's go and let's go now. Far far away, back to where the meadows hum.
He: All right. A silent one will do.

And you ask 'why'?

[Letter to God]
It's not you and it's not me. It's them, I think. It has always been them. I didn't realise it until now that I owe every single moment of my conscious life, my everything to them. As do you, incidentally. Did you know? I like to think you have known all along but I'm not so sure anymore.

This is not blasphemy. It is not my intention to blaspheme as I am not saying no to you. But I want you to know that I can no longer say yes to you and everything you stand for because you've ceased to be everything to me.

Thank you for your time and all the lessons you have taught me. I will remember this one. I promise.

Goodbye, God.


Humility

His wristwatch remains lost and he does not bother getting a new one. The clock on the kitchen wall is silent, its battery flat. The old notes are no longer attached to surfaces but are littering the floor in the shape of small crumpled paper balls. There is a new one on the front door: TELL HIM.

Humility looks at it every morning when he leaves and looks at it again when he comes home, thinking 'not yet'. The small piece of truth he believes to have unveiled is too new, too fresh, too fragile. It needs more time to anchor itself. It needs more time to become less foreign.

It needs time to shed the thin coat of blasphemy it wears. It will. Soon.

When I got up today, it was still dark. Funny how that never fails to catch me by surprise.

[Chastity]
Chas, if you are not headed there yourself, would it be possible to borrow your retreat for a couple of days?

Somewhere between his home and his workplace, there is an old building and from a rusty hook anchored in the dingy wall, dangles a slim silver ring. His left ring finger doesn't miss the weight until many weeks later, but by then he won't for the life of him be able to recall when he's last seen the ring.

Walk past one of our homes during daytime, and you will find it empty. Even if you see the curtains sway and think you see a shadow behind them, you believe that nobody is home. You leave without knocking or even stepping up to the door, because you believe that what you think is true.

But you'd be wrong.

[New note pinned to his bathroom mirror]
- opposites in everything; if one is, then the other is what? this, think on this; this matters!

A normal morning in Humility's life.

( Morning Routine )

( [Notes pinned to various surfaces in Humility's flat] )

Sion, lift up thy voice and sing:
Praise thy Savior and thy King,
Praise with hymns thy shepherd true.

( Passages from Lauda Sion Salvatorem )

The speed of communications is wondrous to behold. It is also true that speed can multiply the distribution of information that we know to be untrue.
[Edward R. Murrow]

( Acts 2:4 )

Be not afraid. Speak with passion and honesty and your voice will be heard.

Our bodies are prisons for our souls. Our skin and blood, the iron bars of confinement. But fear not. All flesh decays. Death turns all to ash. And thus, death frees every soul.^*

In those days, it was impossible to make the right choice because the world did not know right from wrong. Those who chose confession were rewarded with death. For those who refused there was only pain which they carried with them into the afterlife.

When you dance with agony, there is a line you mustn't cross or the suffering will stay with you forever. Carved into your skin, a wound that never heals, it will drive you mad.


^*Quote from The Fountain

[Private]
A small nudge is all...

( It is a small town, one of many in America, a sunny Wednesday afternoon, the present. Outside the town's church, an old minister and a Virtue meet. )

After studying the flowers he's received from Eve all night, Humility wraps them up and leaves them on Chastity's doorstep before he heads off to work the next morning.

When he returns in the evening, he takes stock of everything he owns and starts putting everything he deems unnecessary into boxes and bags. Everything that can be donated will be. The rest goes into the trash.

[Private]
She means well but still... They all mean well. It's too bad our ideas of 'well' don't match. It's not her fault. It's nobody's fault.

Less clutter, more empty space. I like it.

( [Jotted down on the margins of his evening paper] )

She: Let's go and let's go now. Far far away, back to where the meadows hum.
He: I can't. Not now. Perhaps some other time.

There are no humming meadows in this country.

Going out of town. Will return on Sunday.

[Private]
Is this the right work? Is it suitable or appropriate for me to be working in this field?

There are counselling jobs, teaching jobs and social jobs, all of which are more beneficial and useful - however you define 'useful' - to mankind than what a copyright lawyer does I suppose.

But this right here, right now? It is perfect for me.