The little monkey stood alone in the quiet clearing, calling out with every bit of strength his tiny lungs could manage. His voice echoed across the trees—high-pitched, trembling, and desperate. He wasn’t just crying for anyone… he was calling for his mother, his siblings, his relatives—anyone who might hear him and come back.
He had never been alone before. Every night of his short life had been spent curled safely in warm arms, pressed against familiar fur, surrounded by the heartbeat of his family troop. Now the forest felt too big, too dark, too silent.
He took a few shaky steps forward, gripping at leaves and branches as he searched. His tiny chest rose and fell quickly, breaths uneven as fear began to sink in. Each small cry he made was followed by a pause while he listened, hoping—just hoping—to hear his mother answer. But all he heard was the wind brushing through the trees.
The little monkey tilted his head up and screamed again, longer this time, breaking into sobs. His tail shook, his lips quivered, and his eyes wet with tears. He didn’t want food, he didn’t want warmth—he only wanted the familiar touch of his mother’s arms and the comfort he had always known.
A bird landed on a nearby branch, watching him with soft curiosity, but no one else came. He lowered himself onto the ground, tiny fingers digging into the dirt as he cried again, quieter this time—his voice growing tired, yet his hope still alive.
Just as he began to give up, footsteps rustled through the brush. A gentle human rescuer appeared, slowly kneeling down so he wouldn’t be scared.
The little monkey looked up through teary eyes, legs trembling. A soft, warm hand reached out.
He wasn’t home yet—but for now, he wasn’t alone anymore.
