As I stand here on the field of my virtual stadium, my senses pick up on a audible sensation I've never heard before. I pause my training, straining to make out the sound. I see nothing. I see no one around. Yet I know it is there. I pull the ear buds from their canals. The driving beat that propels me now gone, I now know I am not alone.
I look around the sweat stained track...No one. Finally, I look into the stands. Looking higher, then higher. Only then do I see the source of my aggravation. It is them. They think they know my every move. My every mis-step magnified a thousand times in their jeering. The nay-birds, the jay-birds, the Vultures of Sloth. Oh how I know them well.
Their perch perfectly formed to their talons from years of immobility and ever increasing weight. Patiently they sit, searching for that moment of weakness. Their cries louder with each mistake, with each error. Wanting nothing more then to swoop in and pick on the bones of the fallen.
They dare not step on the field of the trained while their prey still stands. Neigh, they shall stay on the sidelines of life. For they are full of fear. Fear of the pain that accompanies the thrill of that which is only attainable by the elite. For they themselves do not have the drive, nor the desire. No, they have let themselves slide. Accepting of the life less full-filled.
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