White Tiger Beauty
Startled, I pounce up and crouch. I can’t breathe. The once bright and blue sky, like the color of the eyes of Mother, angered red. Although I’m used to it, my paws tremble now and then. I peer through the yellow, sun-stricken grass, once green and lively. Maybe it was a young cub. But I see another one of us, black and white striped fur dyed red, eyes disheveled. It hurts to think, hundreds of thousands of us roamed across the beauty of Asia, our exotic eyes a sight to see, but then they came. Those ugly, disgusting creatures Papa called “hunters.” There are no sights to see, no balance of beauty. They’ve hung our faces in their dens and used our fur for their coats. I want to fall asleep until I do not miss them anymore. Our majestic strength destroying every lion, tiger, and jaguar who dared to threaten us, is gone. So I lie here. And I know, I know that I am the only one left, so I walk. I am hungry. I am broken. I am gasping for clean air, but I will. I will keep my beauty and strut until the last of them are gone.
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To Leave Comments - Please SignIn with GoogleSuch a sad sad story told briefly but with powerful poetry like words. Well done!
Welcome to Voice.Club, Jasmina.
I enjoyed your story, Jasmina, but it did seem that the picture didn’t match the story. I would have liked a picture of the white tiger, instead of a polar bear. I very much want to know more about the white tiger now.
Welcome to the voice club, Jasmina. Your first story is very touching and moving. Well done. Keep on writing.
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