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For the prompt on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic. Borrowing more from David Suchet's Poirot, since I haven't read the stories in a while -_-;
Ego Sum
It was not the egoism they thought, this satisfaction.
Well, perhaps. The ego was, after all, the self, in the original. And there was in this, in the solving of riddles and the extension of the cells, a perfect sense of self. A unity, a knowledge both internal and external, both the mind and the world placed before it. Ego sum qui sum, cogito ergo sum.
Yes. Yes, perhaps they were right. Egoism, to be so satisfied. But perhaps that word, like so many, did not necessarily mean what others thought it meant.
It was ... a completement. The satisfaction, precise and uncomplicated, of being correct, of having divined by pure thought the nature of the situation. Of having understood in totality the people and the facts placed before him, so that he might effect justice or mercy as he must. Those two heights to which all must aspire, which he had satisfied within himself.
Egoism. A perfect sense of self. A perfect unity between the little cells in their pale cage, and the world they had engaged and triumphed over, however briefly.
Hercule smiled. A small quirk of the lips, practically invisible. Was there not happiness to be found, in such things? Yes. Yes, he thought there might be, indeed.
Was it not, after all, the very nature of happiness, to find completion in one's self.
comment_fic. Borrowing more from David Suchet's Poirot, since I haven't read the stories in a while -_-;Ego Sum
It was not the egoism they thought, this satisfaction.
Well, perhaps. The ego was, after all, the self, in the original. And there was in this, in the solving of riddles and the extension of the cells, a perfect sense of self. A unity, a knowledge both internal and external, both the mind and the world placed before it. Ego sum qui sum, cogito ergo sum.
Yes. Yes, perhaps they were right. Egoism, to be so satisfied. But perhaps that word, like so many, did not necessarily mean what others thought it meant.
It was ... a completement. The satisfaction, precise and uncomplicated, of being correct, of having divined by pure thought the nature of the situation. Of having understood in totality the people and the facts placed before him, so that he might effect justice or mercy as he must. Those two heights to which all must aspire, which he had satisfied within himself.
Egoism. A perfect sense of self. A perfect unity between the little cells in their pale cage, and the world they had engaged and triumphed over, however briefly.
Hercule smiled. A small quirk of the lips, practically invisible. Was there not happiness to be found, in such things? Yes. Yes, he thought there might be, indeed.
Was it not, after all, the very nature of happiness, to find completion in one's self.
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