The forest that morning was heavy with mist. Dew dripped from every leaf, and the air smelled of wet bark and soil. A troop of monkeys had gathered on the rocks near the stream, grooming each other and searching for food. Among them was a mother named Lina, carrying her small baby, Mimi, clutched close to her chest.
Mimi was tiny—barely three months old—with fur as soft as cotton and eyes that reflected pure innocence. She clung to her mother wherever she went, her small hands grasping Lina’s fur tightly. Whenever Lina paused to eat or rest, Mimi’s eyes blinked sleepily, trusting her mother’s warmth more than the world around her.
But not all in the troop was peaceful. Among the group was a large, rough-tempered male named Bako. He was strong, dominant, and easily angered. The other monkeys often avoided him, keeping their distance. He had a habit of asserting control—taking food from others, pushing smaller monkeys aside, and even attacking without reason.
That morning, something in him seemed restless. Perhaps it was hunger. Perhaps it was the tension from another male nearby. Whatever it was, the forest was quiet, but his eyes were sharp and cold.
Lina was sitting with Mimi near a rock, trying to eat a few ripe berries she had found. The baby was playful, reaching out for the fruit with tiny fingers, giggling softly. It was a tender moment—a peaceful bond between mother and child under the morning light.
Then Bako approached.
His heavy steps crushed dry leaves beneath him. The other monkeys immediately moved away. Lina froze when she saw him. Her heart tightened. She had seen what he could do—how he had bitten and thrown others before. Quickly, she gathered Mimi closer, trying not to meet his eyes.
But Bako wanted the berries. He grunted lowly, signaling that she should give them up. Lina, frightened, offered him a few. But when she had only a handful left, he wanted more. She hesitated. Those berries were all she had for her baby.
Bako’s patience snapped.
He bared his teeth and leapt toward her. Lina screamed, clutching Mimi and stumbling backward. The troop scattered into the trees, shrieking. The forest suddenly erupted with panic.
Bako lunged, grabbing Lina’s arm roughly. She tried to twist away, holding Mimi tightly. The baby began to cry—high, terrified cries that echoed through the jungle. Lina pulled, struggling to escape, but Bako’s strength was immense. He struck her shoulder, sending her tumbling onto the ground.
Her baby slipped from her grasp.
Mimi landed a few feet away on the dirt, rolling over and crying even louder. Her little arms flailed, desperate for her mother. Lina scrambled to get up, but Bako blocked her path, snarling.
She screamed for help. The sound was filled with fear and anger, but no one dared to interfere. The troop stayed hidden, watching from the branches, too afraid of Bako’s rage.
Then—Bako turned toward the baby.
Lina froze in horror.
He stepped closer to Mimi, who was still crying helplessly. The big monkey grabbed her by the leg—his rough hand wrapping around the tiny limb. Mimi’s cry turned to a scream of pain. She kicked and twisted, but he held her tightly. Lina shrieked and threw herself forward, but Bako pushed her back with a powerful slap.
Then, in a horrifying instant—he swung the baby.
Mimi’s small body swung helplessly in the air. Her cries cut through the forest. Bako lifted her and threw her against a nearby rock.
A dull crack echoed.
The baby’s head struck the sharp edge of the stone. She fell to the ground motionless, a faint whimper escaping before silence. The forest went still. Even the wind seemed to stop.
Lina screamed—a sound of pure agony that pierced the trees. She ran to her baby, pushing Bako aside. He didn’t resist now; his fury had burned out. He turned away, leaving her there on the dirt beside the small, broken form.
Lina lifted Mimi gently into her arms. Her heart was racing so fast it felt like it would burst. She looked at her baby’s head—blood was trickling slowly from a wound above her eye. Her breathing was shallow, faint, almost gone.
“No… no, my baby…” Lina whimpered in soft grunts, rocking her gently. She licked the wound, desperate to clean it, to make it stop. Her hands trembled as she tried to wake her baby, brushing her face and shaking her lightly.
But Mimi didn’t move.
Her small chest rose once, then again, then stopped for a long, dreadful moment. Lina screamed again, louder this time, clutching the baby close, shaking her, trying to bring her back. She pressed her face into her fur, crying, her tears mixing with the blood.
Other monkeys peeked from behind branches, watching in silence. None dared to come near Bako, who sat nearby staring at the ground, breathing heavily. He seemed almost dazed by what he had done.
Lina, though, could not stop. She carried Mimi to a patch of sunlight, laid her down gently, and began to groom her fur as she had always done. She licked her face, cleaned the blood from her eyes, and touched her small hands. She waited for any sign of life—any twitch, any breath.
But her baby’s head was badly hurt. The rock had cut deep. Blood had matted the fur. Every minute that passed, her hope faded.
She rocked back and forth, holding Mimi close again, whispering soft grunts, the sounds of a mother who could not understand why the world had turned so cruel.
The sun climbed higher, lighting the forest in gold. The troop began to move again, slowly, carefully, keeping distance from the scene. The young ones peeked curiously, but the elders held them back. Everyone knew tragedy when they saw it.
Lina stayed still, her baby in her arms. She would not eat, would not move. She groomed Mimi’s fur over and over, as if trying to erase the wound, as if love alone could heal it.
The blood dried slowly under the sun. Flies began to gather, but Lina brushed them away with shaking hands. She pressed her baby’s hand to her face and kissed it, crying quietly.
Hours passed. The sound of the forest returned—the birds, the cicadas, the rustle of wind—but Lina heard none of it. Her world was silent now.
By late afternoon, Bako had left. He disappeared deeper into the forest, chased by guilt and fear. The troop reappeared, gathering in the trees around Lina, but no one dared to touch her or the baby. They sat silently, mourning in their own way.
As night fell, the air grew cold. Lina curled around her baby to keep her warm, even though she knew warmth no longer mattered. She pressed her chest against Mimi’s small body and closed her eyes, listening to the rhythm of her own heartbeat—pretending it was her baby’s.
Through the long night, she stayed awake. The moonlight fell over her like silver tears, and sometimes she made small, broken sounds—half calls, half sobs.
When dawn came, the forest began to stir again. But Lina remained in the same spot, holding her baby. Her eyes were red, her fur wet with dew and tears.
The troop began to move to another feeding area. The others called softly to her, urging her to follow, but she didn’t move. She just looked down at her baby’s still face.
Her mind replayed that awful moment over and over—the sight of Bako lifting her child, the sound of the rock, the silence afterward. It haunted her like a shadow that would never leave.
Later that morning, the troop leader, Tano, approached her carefully. He was old and gentle, respected by all. He came close, watching her quietly. He sniffed the baby’s body and made a low, mournful sound. Then he looked at Lina, as if telling her it was time to let go.
But she couldn’t. She held Mimi tighter, shaking her head, refusing to accept it. She rocked her baby again, as if by motion she could breathe life back into her.
Hours turned into another day. The baby’s body had begun to stiffen. Still, Lina carried her everywhere—when she moved to drink from the stream, when she climbed a tree, even when she rested. The other monkeys looked on with sadness. Some mothers stayed near her, grooming her gently, but Lina barely responded.
By the third day, the smell had begun to spread. The troop could no longer stay nearby. Tano called the group to move on, and one by one they left. But Lina remained beneath the rock where it had happened, holding what was left of her baby.
As the sun set again, she finally began to dig. Her fingers scratched at the dirt, slow and trembling. She made a small hole beside the rock—the same one that had killed her child. Carefully, she laid Mimi down inside, arranging her tiny arms gently over her chest.
She sat there for a long time, staring. Then she began to cover the body with leaves, one by one, each leaf trembling in her hands.
When she was done, she placed her hand on the mound, touching it softly. Her eyes were full of tears, but her movements were calm now. She leaned forward and kissed the spot where her baby’s head rested beneath the earth.
Then she sat beside the mound until darkness swallowed the forest.
The next morning, she finally rose. Her body was weak, her movements slow. She looked at the grave one last time. The sunlight fell softly over it, glinting through the trees like a farewell blessing.
She climbed the nearest tree and paused on a high branch. She looked down, her face expressionless, her eyes hollow. Then she made a low sound—one long, broken call that echoed through the forest. It was a sound of loss, of love, and of endless pain.
After that, she turned and followed the troop’s trail.
The forest returned to its rhythm again, but the rock remained, stained with faint traces of blood. It was a cruel reminder of how quickly life can break in the wild—how one moment of rage can destroy the fragile beauty of a mother’s world.
Days later, rain fell. It washed the blood away, but not the memory. The leaves grew again, covering the ground, hiding the spot where tragedy had struck. Yet the forest would always remember. The trees had heard her screams; the stones had felt her tears.
And somewhere among the branches, Lina still carried her sorrow. Every time she saw another mother with her baby, she would stop and watch, eyes full of quiet pain. She would reach out her hand and touch her own empty chest, remembering the warmth that was gone forever.
The others had forgotten the fight, but she never did. The sound of the rock against her baby’s head echoed in her mind whenever the wind moved through the leaves. And sometimes, when the forest grew silent at dusk, she would sit by herself and let out a soft, trembling call—a call that faded slowly into the dark.
It was the voice of a mother who had lost everything.
