Fatal Flaw

It was a quarter past one.
I carefully lay down the book, closing it, on the chair beside my bed. I was tired, but not ready to sleep yet... My mind was buzzing with thoughts...
So naive, this hero, isn't he? Always thinking of saving his friends... but that was his fatal flaw, the one that would eventually either save him or ruin him...
I thought of my nails, admiring my -several month's worth- work; They were very long now... My dad wondered how could I play like this, but it was no problem... he said that he wouldn't pay for piano lessons, that it didn't matter anyway because I'm "allergic to criticism"... That I don't like being told what to do...
But the latter isn't true, I thought, I don't mind too much being told what to do... I just don't like being fixed, being told I'm wrong...
My thoughts wondered back to flaws. What's mine, I pondered, as I've been pondering for a while now... What's my flaw? Is it Hubris?
It is, I realized. I'm too proud. Proud of what I am... Too proud to admit that I could be wrong. At least, at least in front of other people... People that matter... In situations that matter...
What does this help me with, though? I suddenly asked myself. How does this matter?
It was a quarter past one.
I rolled over, and rolled over again. I thought I saw light- lightning- and jumped, but it was nothing. And slowly, full of many thoughts, I fell asleep...