The tiny baby monkey lay curled on the rough wooden floor, his fragile body trembling with exhaustion. His face, scratched and bruised from days of neglect, looked even smaller beneath the layer of dirt clinging to his fur. Every breath he took sounded weak, as though the air itself weighed too heavily on his fragile chest. His ribs showed with every movement, a painful reminder that he had gone far too long without proper food or comfort.
He tried to lift his head, hoping someone—anyone—would come. But the moment he raised it, the pain from his damaged little face made him whimper and drop it back down. Hunger twisted in his belly like a burning knot. He licked the floor, hoping for even the smallest hint of milk, but there was nothing. His tiny hands reached out blindly, searching for warmth, touch, or the presence of a caregiver.
Minutes felt like hours as he cried softly, his voice weak and shaky. It wasn’t the loud cry of a healthy infant… it was the desperate plea of a baby who no longer had the strength to scream. His eyes, red and tired, blinked slowly as he tried to stay awake. But every moment of waiting drained the last bits of energy he had.
Just when his little body began to slump, he heard footsteps. He tried to lift his head again — just enough to show he was still alive, still fighting, still hoping. His caregiver rushed in, shocked by the sight of the starving newborn. They scooped him up quickly, their hands gentle, their voice shaking with worry.
The baby clung to their finger instantly, using the last of his strength to hold on. He didn’t have words, but everything in his tiny trembling grip said the same thing:
Please don’t leave me. Please feed me. Please save me.
Warm milk was prepared in seconds, and the moment the bottle touched his mouth, he latched on desperately, suckling with the hunger of a baby fighting to survive. Each swallow brought back a little strength, a little hope, a little light.
He wasn’t safe yet… but he wasn’t alone anymore.
