an extended metaphor....

     Vultures stalk a rabbit whose small heart is but one thin beat away from death, or they circle an already rotting carcasses splayed on a country road. Their vulture senses are drawn by the sticky sweet smell of fear and death. The black winged birds circle and circle high above waiting for an opportune moment when they can glide down and tear the carcass apart tender piece by tender piece.. Ingesting, digesting. Swooping back into the sky when they are startled, gilding back, beady eyes peeled for a sign of movement, a living being with a strong beating heart and a will to live. Of this they are afraid.

      These black winged scavengers are a cowardly, carrion eating, bottom feeding collective who prey on the dead and vulnerable, and those who cannot, or will not, fight back. They are a rank lot. Brutish and beastly.  Shifty eyed and repulsive. They garner no respect, just a shiver of disgust.

     Tread by them lightly. Do not look them in the eye. Death may be on your shoulder….