The Ballestero Blog

A Good Day For A Vulture

Some sat on the sidelines and watched. Others from their lofty heights monitored the situation closely. It was just a matter of time. They all knew that.

They all had seen this scenario played out before. It always unfolded in slow motion. They were used to the waiting game, but it was worth the wait. The focus of their attention had made one fatal mistake and now he was badly hurt. They couldn’t take their eyes off of their victim.

They watched and they watched and they watched.

They waited and they waited and they waited.

It almost always turned out the same. They were ready for it this time. They wanted to see death come. They wanted to tear the victim apart. They couldn’t wait to get their fill of him. They couldn’t wait to pick him to pieces. They were vultures, and that’s what vultures do best.

They had watched him struggle to survive for the last mile or two across the wasteland. His weakness excited their thirst for blood. The injured traveller had struggled valiantly to make it to safety, but to no avail. Their joy was in his weakness. Their future depended on his failure.

• There was no one to help him.
• He had no water to drink.
• He had nothing to defend himself with.
• He had nothing with which to dress his wounds.
• Fever caused by infection, racked his emaciated body.
• His strength was gone.
• He had lost a lot of blood.
• A few hours earlier, he had fallen to the ground.
• He now had no strength to rise.
• He couldn’t go on.
• He was finished.

This was a good day for a vulture. The vultures began to get braver and come closer. They could barely see signs of him breathing.

Vultures passing by noticed the large gathering of their kind and excitedly joined the crowd. This would be a good day. Something or someone had fallen to the ground. That always made their day.

They wanted to see death come. They wanted to tear the victim apart. They couldn’t wait to get their fill of him. They couldn’t wait to pick him to pieces. They were vultures, and that’s what vultures do best.

There would be no restraint. There were no rules of decorum. There would be no referee or umpire to stop them. They would rip, tear, flap their wings, squawk and devour the victim without mercy. They would leave nothing but a skeleton.

Vultures do not care what they look like to the rest of the world. Their actions are just a manifestation of their degenerate nature.

Every vulture would soon gorge himself. They would soon tear the victim apart. They couldn’t wait to get their fill of him. They couldn’t wait to pick him to pieces. They were vultures, and that’s what vultures do best.

In an hour or two, his white bones would lie bleaching in the sun. This victim would only be a brief moment in time for them. He would just be a little something to help them fill their day.

Tomorrow they would be looking for another victim. They always were looking for a fresh victim. They wanted to tear the next victim apart too. They couldn’t wait to get their fill of him. They couldn’t wait to pick him to pieces. They were vultures, and that’s what vultures do best.

This Was A Good Day For A Vulture.