The forest floor was cool and dim beneath the tall canopy, where sunlight only slipped through in thin, trembling beams. Among the tangled roots and fallen leaves lay a newborn monkey, no bigger than a human hand, shivering beside the base of an old tree. Its soft, pinkish skin pressed against the damp earth, and its tiny limbs twitched helplessly as it cried out with all the strength its fragile body could muster.
The cries were thin, high-pitched, and heartbreaking—each one rising sharply into the quiet jungle, begging for anyone, anything, to hear. The infant’s chest lifted in desperate, uneven breaths, shaking with the effort. It didn’t understand why the world felt so large, so cold, so empty. All it knew was the instinctive ache for warmth, for the familiar heartbeat and soft fur that had comforted it only moments after birth. But now, there was nothing.
The baby’s eyes remained shut, glued with newborn weakness, unable to see the world around it. Instead, it felt everything through touch and sound—the roughness of the leaves beneath it, the distant rustle of branches, the buzzing of tiny insects moving near its face. Startled, it let out another sharp cry, louder this time, its little mouth opening wide as though it could pour its fear into the open air.
Somewhere high above, a bird shifted on a branch, startled by the noise. The movement sent small particles of bark drifting downward, lightly scattering onto the infant’s back. The touch made the baby jerk, its tiny hands curling inward before stretching out again in search of something familiar. But its fingers grasped only empty air.
A breeze passed through the clearing, carrying the scent of earth and sweet fruit. The coolness made the infant whimper, curling slightly to protect itself, though it lacked the strength to fully ball up. The ground beneath it leeched warmth from its body, chilling the delicate skin and drawing another series of trembling cries.
Still, no mother came.
Not far away, hidden within a tangle of brush, a pair of older monkeys moved cautiously, drawn by the tiny voice echoing through the trees. They paused, listening, their heads tilting in curiosity and hesitation. The baby’s cries were growing hoarser, but still desperate—still calling. The older monkeys exchanged glances but did not approach. The risks of taking in another’s newborn were too great. The forest’s laws were unforgiving. And so, after one last look, they slipped away into the foliage, leaving the baby’s plea unanswered.
The infant’s crying rose again, its voice breaking slightly. Hunger clawed at its belly, creating a pressure it didn’t know how to name but instinctively feared. It opened its mouth, searching for milk, for comfort, for the mother’s arms that should have lifted it by now. When nothing came, it pressed its face into the soil and sobbed harder, the sound muffled but full of raw desperation.
Above, the canopy shifted once more, letting a narrow beam of sunlight fall across the infant’s back. The warmth brought a brief calm, and the baby grew still as it absorbed the small comfort. Its breathing slowed. For a moment, it seemed poised between sleep and exhaustion. But the quiet lasted only a heartbeat.
Then came another wave of loneliness—deep and instinctive—and the baby’s cries resumed with new intensity. Its voice echoed through the clearing, bouncing off trees and roots, as though trying to reach any living thing that might respond. The sound trembled with fear, fading and rising again like a tiny heartbeat struggling to keep pace with a world too big for it.
Insects, drawn by the noise and the stillness between cries, crawled closer. A small black ant touched the infant’s wrist. The baby flinched violently, startled beyond its strength, and let out an ear-splitting wail. The ant scurried away, but the distress lingered, feeding the infant’s panic.
Still, no footsteps approached. No warm hands lifted it. No shadow of a returning mother fell across the forest floor.
And so the baby monkey remained there—alone, trembling, crying desperately into the vast, indifferent jungle—its tiny voice fighting against silence, hoping that someone, somewhere, would finally answer.
