The Last Serkiti

They were watching us. I could feel it. My heartbeat uneven with theirs. Bump. bapa. Bump. bapa. Bump. bapa. Bump. bapa- what was that? It was faintest rustle. They were moving closer. I could see a glint of sunlight coming off of the guns barrel. “They had gotten the others,”I thought. “but they are not going to get me.” And with that I ran, faster than anything.
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No one here knew pain, or that it hurt. Or that it could take everything you did know and twist it, making you confused. Or lost. But they did not have to know. They knew I would tell them.
Like the day before the 97th year began. Everyone on the island of Twir, especially us serkiti, were harvesting. Everyone, from the tiny new fawns to Waldrom, the alpha serkiti, was pulling bright red kumba fruit from its bushes and making sure it was properly stored for the harsh winters. I was taking a rest near the brook, which always had clear, cool water running through it, when I heard what I thought was humans talking. Or maybe whispering. I felt a bit uneasy. I heard the men say what sounded like “load. aim. fire.” I did not know what this meant, but I truly did not like the sound of it.