Baby Bola cried loudly, his sharp screams breaking the silence of the water lake. His tiny body clung desperately to a thin stick rising from the shallow water, his small hands shaking as they struggled to hold on. Below him, dark water rippled softly, but to Bola it felt endless and terrifying. He was stuck, scared, and alone.
His fur was wet and heavy, making his body feel weaker by the second. Every small movement caused the stick to sway, and that made him scream even louder. Fear filled his wide eyes as he looked around, searching for his mom. He called again and again, his voice cracking with panic, but only echoes answered him.
Moments earlier, Bola had slipped near the lake while exploring. Too small to swim, too weak to climb out, he had grabbed the nearest thing he could—a stick. Now his arms ached, his legs trembled, and his chest rose fast as he struggled to breathe calmly. Water splashed against his belly, cold and unforgiving.
His cries were not just fear of water. They were fear of being forgotten.
Time felt slow. Bola’s grip loosened, then tightened again as he cried harder, tears mixing with lake water on his face. Each second felt like the last. The world felt huge, and he felt impossibly small.
Then footsteps rushed closer.
Gentle voices called out as careful hands reached toward him. Bola screamed one final time as he was lifted from the water, clinging tightly to the rescuer’s arm. The moment his body left the lake, his cries softened into weak sobs. He pressed his face against warmth, shaking, exhausted, but alive.
Wrapped in dry cloth, Bola rested, breathing slowly as safety replaced fear. The lake grew quiet again, as if nothing had happened. But for Bola, everything had changed.
That day, the water almost took him. But kindness pulled him back. His loud cries saved his life, and gentle hands answered them just in time.
