Zac had swagger and grace. He wore his ego like a crown and his hair like a dandy. He was his own creation, a walking work of art. Missing a vital component from his integrity and with an arrogance borne of luck not bravery, he had no reason to question his role in the world. He was on top, because that is where he deserved to be.
“Nothing can stop a man with the right mental attitude,” he would say; he had it written on his business cards, embossed with gold. And nothing could stop Zac, because if charm didn’t work, he could buy his way through.
As someone who grew up with money, he never needed to seek out more. Business opportunities simply appeared when he met up with rich friends for luncheon.
“Nothing can stop a man with the right mental attitude,” he said, wondering why the unemployed didn’t simply take one of the many opportunities that must appear with every meal. He assumed it was laziness.
His demands for adoration were always met by a noisy crowd. They gained nourishment from loving someone so beautiful and he absorbed their love like soaking up rays of the sun. It was a symbiosis.
If some unbeliever dared to criticise his spoilt soul and ignorance, Zac would dip his head and look up coyly through his eyelashes, in a fake gesture of humility. Then with a wave of his hand he would summon his worshipers to snarl and snap like a pack of dogs at the witless serf.
As he strutted in distressed denim and flicked his quiff, he had no idea that his ego was outgrowing his brain, a tragic degenerative condition with no cure. At first nobody noticed that the twinkle in his eye sometimes became a blank stare.
But soon his naturally quick mind was smothered by his self-belief until he was barely able to articulate a thought or choose a new hair product.
“Nothing can stop a man…” he would say, and then forget the rest, a look of desperation lightly grazed his good looks.
Luckily his adoring fans knew his opinions well enough to voice them for him, and his team of personal assistants could maintain his coiffured exterior.
“Nothing…”he would plead, as they fussed around him, ignoring his distress and focussing on the quiff. There was no need for change, the cult of Zac continued in earnest.