Here's a piece I wrote, in the form of a short story, focusing on the theme of hubris: having too much pride or confidence.

It’s a snowy day and like all the snowy days that have come before, He is left alone plagued by his own thoughts in a house that operates on unreliable electricity. So He stares out at the world through the glass walls of the first floor living room, and watches the sky sugar stick to the mud ground. The glare from the milky white snow shone so brightly that it lit up all floors of the house. There is no use for the expensive lamps that line the corners of the house aside from decor. Eventually the snow begins to cover the ground completely, boring him, so he pulls His precious attention away and happens upon his own reflection.

There’s nothing really there in His reflection: no remarkable features, no altered hair, or identifying eyes. Just Him and His own reflection - one that seemed to have more of a soul (or something like that) than the living breathing organism it exists from. And at this He could get jealous, or angry, or aloof but He’d rather just stare back at Himself - no, It - and ask It the very vague question that gnawed ever so slightly at him at times. You know, when he was plagued by his own thoughts.

“Hello,” He said in His mind. If this were indeed His own reflection, It would surely be saying the same thing. If this were indeed His reflection It will have some ability. But the certain glint in Its eyes did not belong to Him.

“Good day,” It responded. Its mouth turned upwards at the right side. Its eyelids drooped with a certain heaviness.

“So you can hear me?” He asked.

“All I hear is you,” It said.

“That's unfortunate,” He said plainly. “But I guess that would be the case since you are just my reflection.”

“I am not just your reflection. You are my reflection" It said with certainty.

“I am the one who is real. You are made from nothing. You only exist when I want you to. Like whenever I look into a mirror - you are there. But if I don’t look - you are not. ”

“Hohoho,” It mocked. “But you cannot escape the shadows. Whether you see mine eyes or not, does not mean I am not watching. Whether you hear mine footsteps beneath yours or not, does not mean I am not walking. And whether you feel the weight of mine chest with yours or not, does not mean I am not pressed against your back. So whether you decide I am real or not, does not mean that mine words are lies.”

“Who do you think you are to talk to me like that?” He said. “I am your overseer. I am the breathing. The living.”

“Yes and with every breath you take, I take two. And with every morning you awake to, I have already lived another life” It said.

“You are the afterthought. The after-essence. You live in a world of darkness - of shadows. And I live in the realm of people,” He said.

“No. You live in the realm of things,” It said. “Of glass wall things. You are the after essence, you and all the people. You are the white dwarfs of space. The past of time. You and the people are so troubled by your own existence that you bite one another - fight one another like dogs in a ring.” How could this thing believe that it held the same significance as Him.

“I’d rather be a dog in a ring than a shadow that disappears every night,” He said. He would show It the power He held. He is the living, the breathing. He would pull away from the glass and It would be gone.

“And yet” It said. “We return every morning.”