The Tasmanian Tiger (Thylacine) went extinct on September 7, 1936. It was last seen in the wild on May 6, 1930. Follow the POV of that very last tiger on its last day.
Food! Leaves rustle in the trees above, their shadows make a safe cover in my forest, protecting it. The sky is clear. Rabbits run freely with the wind, their delicious smells tickle my nose. My stomach is growling. I can hunt them, but why do all that work when I can just as easily hunt some sheep or chickens? I follow my nose through the forest into a familiar clearing. I'm temporarily blocked from my meal by a white barrier made out of a material I'm foreign to. Though, I can pick up the faint, familiar smell of wood underneath the unknown white substance that covers it. I'm not stopped for long, however, because I walk to my hole I've dug underneath it so that I could crawl to the other side. With a few wiggles and a tight squeeze, I make it to the other side. I've left the safety of my forest. I stand before a clearing, home to dozens of sheep. I know that I'm exposed. It will be impossible to hide in this short, green grass with my tan fur and dark brown stripes. I have to be careful. I watch the sheep grazing in the grass. I consider hunting one of them to eat, but I stop myself. I could never eat a full sheep. Not alone anyway. There used to be others like me, but they're gone now, taken by a stick of lightning. Now it's just me. I change my target from the sheep to the chickens. They're surrounded by symmetrical, hardened, grey vines. Like the white barrier, I have to dig my way to the other side. This is when the commotion begins. As soon as the chickens see me crawl in with them, they begin clucking loudly. As the're scrambling at my paws, I'm choosing my hunt. A meaty brown hen runs past. That's the one. It doesn't take long until I make the killing bite. Warm blood trickles onto my tongue, and her squawks of terror ceases. I bark in triumph. I won't be going hungry today! As I'm exiting the hole, I hear a noise. It comes from the human den. A male human walks towards me. I've faced him before, back when there were more of us. He's carrying the lightning stick. The same one that took the others. Facing him, I open my jaw in warning. It can open wider than any other animal. But he ignores my warning, aiming the lightning stick at me. I run. I don't want to get caught! I don't want to be eaten! I want to live! The hole is just one hop away. I can make it! BANG!!! I feel a sudden burst of pain on my left side. I whine from the horrible feeling and collapse, the hen falling from my jaws. I'm breathing deeply. What is it about us that makes humans want to get rid of us? My vision is fading. I didn't do anything wrong. A warm, red puddle forms around me. Why is he only killing my kind? Why not any other animal? The pain disappears. I feel calm somehow. Why am I the last Tasmanian Tiger? Everything goes black.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
