The afternoon sun spread golden warmth across the dusty yard of a quiet village. The air carried the faint scent of ripe fruit from nearby trees, mingling with the earthy smell of soil. At the edge of the yard, huddled beneath the shadow of a broken wooden cart, a tiny baby monkey sat alone. Its fur was soft but unkempt, a dull brown that seemed to sag against its fragile frame. Its big eyes shimmered with both innocence and sorrow. The baby was an orphan, its mother lost days ago to an accident no one could prevent. Since then, the infant had wandered, clinging to scraps of comfort it could find.
Loneliness weighed heavily on the little one. It cried often—thin, piercing cries that sounded like a child calling for someone who would never come back. Its chest rose and fell rapidly as hunger gnawed at its belly. The villagers pitied it but feared getting too close; some tossed fruit or rice in its direction, but no hands ever reached out to cradle it. To the world, the orphaned monkey was both a curiosity and a burden.
On this particular day, danger lurked closer than compassion. A playful puppy, no more than six months old, bounded into the yard. Its fur gleamed golden under the sunlight, its ears floppy, and its eyes filled with a wild, untrained mischief. Though small compared to grown dogs, the puppy was still strong, with sharp little teeth and a restless energy that craved release. It caught sight of the lonely baby monkey and froze, tilting its head. To the puppy, the trembling creature was not a being to pity, but something strange, moving, and perhaps worth chasing.
The baby monkey stiffened immediately. Its instincts screamed of danger. With a tiny whimper, it pressed its back against the wooden cart, clutching its thin arms tightly across its chest. The puppy lowered itself playfully, tail wagging furiously, before lunging forward in an eager attempt to nip. Its sharp teeth snapped just inches from the monkey’s tiny hands.
The orphan shrieked, a heart-wrenching cry that echoed across the yard. It scrambled on all fours, stumbling clumsily across the dirt. Its limbs were too weak, its body too frail, and every movement looked more like a desperate crawl than a run. The puppy followed, yipping excitedly, mistaking the cries for some sort of game. Its jaws snapped again, grazing the monkey’s fur. The little creature tumbled forward, rolling into the dirt, before trying once more to escape.
The scene unfolded like a cruel mismatch—innocence against innocence, yet one held the power to destroy while the other had no defense. The baby monkey’s cries grew louder, shrill enough to make some villagers peek out from their doorways. Still, no one rushed to help. They watched, torn between pity and fear, as the puppy pounced again.
This time, the monkey found no space to run. Cornered against the rough bark of a tree, it pressed its tiny body into the roots, shivering violently. The puppy snapped at its tail, pulling just hard enough to make the orphan scream. The sound was raw, like a child’s wail, echoing grief that had already scarred its short life. The puppy growled softly, tail wagging, torn between playful instinct and the dangerous edge of aggression.
For the baby monkey, the world became a whirlwind of terror. Its large eyes filled with tears, rolling down its fur as it cried for a mother who would never come. The puppy lunged once more, and this time its teeth scraped the monkey’s thin arm. The little one shrieked so loudly that even the birds scattered from the trees. Its body trembled uncontrollably, more from fear than pain. The wound was small, but the emotional scar was deep.
At last, the noise drew a response. An elderly villager rushed forward, waving a stick and shouting. The puppy barked defiantly but quickly backed away, startled by the sudden intrusion. Its tail tucked low, and it scampered toward the other side of the yard, still brimming with restless energy but no longer bold enough to continue the chase.
The baby monkey remained pressed against the tree roots, too frightened to move. Its tiny chest heaved as though each breath might be its last. Its cries had softened to weak whimpers, hoarse and broken, but its eyes were wide, filled with unspeakable terror. The old man crouched down, tossing a piece of banana gently toward it. The orphan glanced at the offering but made no move to take it. Fear consumed every thought, every instinct.
The yard grew quiet again, yet the silence carried weight. The puppy was gone, the villagers had returned indoors, and the baby monkey remained alone, quivering. It hugged its thin tail against its chest, rocking slightly as though trying to comfort itself. But comfort was an impossible dream for one who had already lost so much. The absence of its mother left a void that no fruit, no gesture, and no passing kindness could ever fill.
The scrape on its arm stung, but the greater wound was the terror that lingered in its heart. The snapping jaws of the puppy, the helpless scramble across the dirt, the cries that had gone unanswered for too long—all of it carved into the monkey’s fragile memory. To be small, orphaned, and defenseless in a world so vast and uncaring was a fate almost too cruel to bear.
As dusk began to fall, painting the horizon with strokes of crimson and violet, the baby monkey curled into itself beneath the cart once more. Its body trembled with the memory of teeth, its ears still ringing with the echo of its own desperate cries. Hunger gnawed, loneliness ached, but fear overpowered them both. It closed its eyes tightly, clinging to the faint hope that in dreams, its mother might return—gentle, warm, and protective.
Yet when the night deepened, only shadows and silence remained. And somewhere across the yard, the puppy slept soundly, unaware of the sorrow it had etched into the life of an orphaned soul.
