In the middle of a forest flooded with water and dark clouds covering the sky, a small monkey sat alone on a fallen tree, surrounded by rising currents and broken branches. The tree lay half-submerged, its bark slick and cold, drifting slightly as the water pressed against it. Everything familiar had disappeared beneath the flood.
The little monkey shivered.
Rain fell without mercy, blurring the world into shades of gray. The sky was heavy, low, and angry, as if it might collapse onto the forest at any moment. Thunder rolled in the distance, and each sound made the monkey flinch. He clutched the rough wood with both hands, his tiny fingers gripping tightly, afraid that if he let go, he too would vanish into the moving water.
Only hours before, this place had been home.
Tall trees had stood firm. The ground had been dry. His mother had been there. He remembered her warmth, her strong arms, the way she pulled him close whenever danger passed nearby. Now her scent was faint, washed away by rain. He turned his head from side to side, searching, hoping to see her face emerge from the shadows.
She did not come.
The flood had come suddenly. Heavy rain had fallen all night, turning paths into rivers and roots into traps. In the chaos, the little monkey had been swept away, clinging to anything that floated. This fallen tree had saved him—but it could not comfort him.
He cried softly, his voice nearly lost beneath the rain. The sound was thin and weak, filled with confusion rather than strength. His eyes burned, not just from water, but from fear he did not yet understand. The forest felt too big now. Too empty.
The water moved constantly around him. Leaves drifted past. Broken branches bumped against the log. Somewhere beneath the surface, unseen dangers moved silently. The monkey pulled his feet closer to his body, curling in on himself to stay warm.
Lightning flashed.
For a brief moment, the entire flooded forest lit up. Trees stood like dark giants rising from the water. The reflection of the sky shimmered and broke with each ripple. In that instant of light, the little monkey’s face was revealed—small, soaked, wide-eyed, and unbearably alone.
The thunder that followed made him cry out louder this time. His body shook, but he stayed where he was. The fallen tree was the only solid thing left. Leaving it would mean surrender.
Minutes passed. Or hours. Time had lost its meaning.
Gradually, exhaustion softened his fear. His cries faded into quiet whimpers, then into silence. He rested his head against the wood, listening to the rain and the slow movement of the flood. His eyes closed briefly, then opened again, fighting sleep. Sleeping felt dangerous.
But his body was tired.
In the distance, the storm began to weaken. The rain softened, though the sky remained dark. The water still surrounded him, but it no longer felt as violent. The forest seemed to breathe again.
A sound reached his ears—different from rain, different from thunder.
A call.
The monkey lifted his head instantly. His heart jumped. The call came again, closer now. Familiar. His eyes widened as hope stirred painfully in his chest.
He answered with all the strength he had left.
From between the trees, movement appeared. A shape climbed carefully across branches above the water. Then another. A monkey’s face emerged from the shadows—wet, tired, but alive.
His mother.
She reached him quickly, pulling him into her arms with a desperate cry. Her body wrapped around his, shielding him from the cold. He pressed his face into her chest, trembling, but safe at last.
Above them, dark clouds still covered the sky. Floodwater still filled the forest.
But on that fallen tree, in the middle of ruin, life had found its way back to love.
