A man named Thom lived in the heart of a bustling metropolis in the shadow of towering skyscrapers.
Thom was no different from any other city dweller except for the constant noise that plagued him — a cacophony that came not from the world around him but from the voices in his head.
It was not the voices of reason or madness but rather those of doubt and speculation that manifested themselves as unborn chickens clucking and rattling his mind.
One night, as Thom lay in his cramped flat, trying in vain to find sleep amidst the city noise and the constant chatter of his inner critics, a thought struck him with the force of a revelation.
“When I am king,” he mused, a wry smile playing around his lips, “you will be the first to be put up against the wall.” He imagined a world where his opinion counted, the voices that doubted him were silenced, and their irrelevance was visible to all.
But ambition, Thom soon realised, was a double-edged sword. It changed him, even making him unrecognisable to himself. He saw his reflection — ambition had made him ugly, far removed from the man he once was or thought he was.
He became a caricature of success, a “Gucci piggy” squealing and kicking in the mud of his making, not recognising the irony of his existence.
Thom felt alienated and isolated from his desires and transformations. The more he ascended, the less he seemed to remember himself, who he once was.
“Why don’t you remember my name?” he asked, looking in the mirror. The judgement of a tyrant seethed in his heart: “Off with your head, man,” he whispered to his reflection, a grim echo of his inner turmoil.
And then, as if answering a prayer he could never remember, the heavens opened over Thom’s world.
“Rain down on me,” he pleaded, standing amidst the chaos of his creation, arms outstretched as if to embrace the flood. The rain, a torrential downpour, flowed over and through him, cleansing the city streets and briefly silencing the voices in his head.
Thom now saw the true face of his ambition, the ugliness it brought with it and the isolation it guaranteed. Around him raged the storm, the panic, the vomit of a society, a reflection of his inner turmoil.
But at this moment of clarity, Thom was overcome with a cheerful acceptance. “God loves his children,” he realised, and a smile crept onto his face as the rain soaked him to the bone.
“God loves his children”.