The atmosphere thick with anticipation with a million poised eyes, a moment frozen in time... nothing stirs… ears attuned over the millennia, a superior race battle hardened by time awaits the signal, the distinct piercing sound that will set forth the motion… fluid, practiced and honed with time, no mercy when it comes to the kill, a million trained dark eyes watching, waiting for the stirrings on the track…
Set apart are the few rookies, nervous and afraid, the new born gazelles, a bleak future in the chain of survival, not experienced, yet they await with the hope of the damned, mimicking those experienced for a glimmer of a chance for success, not knowing what awaits them...a dark uncertain future…
The air is dry and hot...typically like the African savannah, stirrings amongst them like the sway of the wild African grasslands. A restless energy runs through, getting pumped up by the moment for you never know when Armageddon strikes, or where... being a rookie is not good, it’s really very very bad indeed.
The experienced eyes scan the horizon, the tell tale signs are there on board... the sun glimmers mercilessly on the long snaking lines, glinting harshly…the eyes of the predator see it all, years of evolution having burned the timeless knowledge of the event in them, their muscles get tense and await with anticipation, know with experience, the adrenalin begins to pump … the time is near.
The deed is to be done
Survival depends on it
The less experienced sense the preparation in the predatory eyes… they see them getting ready. .they sharpen their wares and get ready, for this is life... you don’t run, you face it, and succeed at that.
An eerie voice rents the air, announcing it may be time.
A million ears hook up to it.
The ball has been set in motion.
There’s no looking back now.
The predatory instinct takes over, the gait is tense and ready. The time for the kill has come… other’s sense the change...like the warbler’s warning cry tearing the air when the lions begin their hunt, the hunters are ready and about.
Except here it’s a million strong.
A large million eyed one with a few experienced hands, reflexes taut, their ears pick up the sound, the unmistakable tell tale sound
Its time to act
The atmosphere is now hot, mercilessly hot, a million lungs breathe in unison
Waiting for the moment... Many know they will not succeed. But it’s their destiny .They cannot fail and bring disgrace. They know they have to, for they have to be there on time ….to meet their destiny.
The huge collection of souls moves in a singular fluid movement towards the orifice.
A million minds churning out a billion possible lines of collective and individual action.
Comrades saying their last good byes to each other.
Silent nods of the eye convey their thoughts, its now or never..
They know they might meet them on the other side. .if they make it…..
Or not at all
Thereby hangs a uncertain, unknown future
You never know
The sounds are louder now
You can hear the vibrations afoot, the breathing harsher
The object nearer
The time for action coming
They poise with bated breath
The prey moves in and the hunters are ready for the kill, they have to do what they have to, survival of the fittest
Natures rules...no sympathy for the weak and the inexperienced and the young
Battle hardened faces await …waiting for the moment
Friends and foe forgotten…animal emotions and traits subdued for a millennia come gushing a forth
Their adrenalins pumping.
The prey near, within reach.
There’s a mad rush a collective swoop
Many are overwhelmed by the huge mass that pushes thru
Obscuring and carrying the weaker amongst them. Like the powerful river and the helpless gnu…still instinct drives them towards their destiny their goal, their future, it’s what is to be done…
They have no control
The superior ones lead the front, pushing, hitting, and battling their way thru, only one objective mercilessly burnt into their collective consciousness.
They parry, they heave, they attack, and they rush forth carrying the unfortunate helpless along. The crowds of millions sheared by a single swashbuckling movement of the predator making way tearing through the collective, a silk sheet being torn apart…
There’s the point of no return.
Yes they have made it to the tip of the frightening mass searing their way thru, ancient battle cries renting the air, their experienced arms a blur of motion …all this to get ahead to the prey.
Dust on the horizon a million souls in a battle that commences every other millennia and now enacted a thousand times a day.
Yes I have made it to the window seat in the Thane starting local.....