They run with effortless grace, their hair streaming behind like banners of vitality. Their feet never falter, each stride sending tiny sparks of light rippling through the clouds. Some reach out to touch the sunbeams, others leap and twirl, their joy as boundless as the sky itself. Far below, the world is a distant blur, heavy and dim in comparison to this radiant realm.
They peer down with keen, searching eyes. Below them, shapes flicker: murderers lurking in alleyways, perverts slinking through crowds, liars spinning webs behind closed doors. Dogs bark at nothing, scavenging in gutters, and disgusting, timid thieves slip their hands into pockets, faces hidden by hoods. The runners watch in silence, the joy of their realm momentarily clouded by the scenes below.
One among them, her eyes wide and thoughtful, whispers, "Why do they live like that, tangled in darkness while we soar above?" Another, taller and resolute, answers with a heavy sigh, "Perhaps they have forgotten the light, or never learned to reach for it." Their words drift like feathers, heavy with meaning in the bright air.
A third voice, gentle and clear, speaks: "We watch, but we do not intervene. Our place is up here, untouched. Or is it?" The others fall silent, considering. The light above flickers, hinting at uncertainty and the burden of privilege.
A few pause, glancing back at the struggles beneath the clouds. One lingers, her gaze full of longing. "Maybe one day we can teach them to run with us, to find this place in the sun," she murmurs, hope glimmering in her voice. The others nod, their hearts warmed by the possibility.
They leave behind the darkness for now, choosing to embody the light. Above, they remain vigilant—a reminder that hope can dwell even when shadows gather below. The clouds beneath their feet are both shield and promise, carrying them forward into the ever-brightening horizon.
