The forest lay heavy with heat, the kind that clung to every leaf and root like a damp blanket. Deep within the undergrowth, the newborn monkey lay sprawled on the ground, its tiny chest rising and falling in fragile, uneven breaths. The infant was too weak to lift its head, too small to defend itself, and too alone to understand why no comforting warmth curled around it. The earth beneath it felt harsh, cold, and unforgiving.
At first, only a few ants had wandered near, exploring the helpless creature out of instinct rather than malice. They crawled over its wrist and along its leg, tiny feet prickling the thin skin. The baby twitched faintly, letting out a soft whimper. Its eyes squeezed shut, face scrunched in discomfort, but the newborn still had enough breath to cry.
Then more ants came.
They emerged from the roots nearby, responding to the scent of salt and heat that the infant’s distressed body released. Their tiny black forms marched in lines, weaving through leaves and dirt until they began climbing onto the newborn’s fragile frame. One ant reached its belly. A second crawled across its ribs. A third climbed onto its cheek.
The baby jerked weakly, too startled and too terrified to stay still. It let out a sharp cry—thin, cracked, but filled with pain. Its legs kicked just a little, barely lifting off the ground before falling back with a dull thud. The movement knocked a couple of ants loose, but more quickly replaced them, drawn by the frantic motion.
Its cries grew louder, trembling with fear. Each wail shook its tiny chest, making the ants scattered across its skin cling harder or scurry nervously. The newborn tried instinctively to curl up, but its limbs had no strength left. All it could do was flail slightly, its fingers opening and closing in helpless spasms.
A cluster of ants reached its belly, forming a small, shifting patch of movement that made the baby scream. The sound echoed through the trees—high, sharp, desperate. The ants crawled along its ribs, down its legs, over its feet. Some climbed toward its face. One reached the edge of its mouth. The infant turned its head, trying to shake them off, but its body was too weak, its movements too slow.
The pain was beyond anything the newborn could understand. Every brush of tiny legs across its skin felt like a thousand needles. The ants were not attacking with aggression—they were simply crawling, curious, searching—but the newborn’s delicate body felt every touch as torment. Its skin twitched under the contact, small muscles tightening and releasing uncontrollably.
The baby cried again, voice breaking. The sound came out hoarse, the result of too much screaming and too little breath. But the ants kept coming. They explored its back, its arms, its neck. The infant’s entire body trembled in panic, but it could do nothing to escape. It lacked the coordination to roll over, the strength to sit up, or the awareness to move away from the ant trail.
Overhead, the trees swayed gently, their leaves rustling with a breeze that never reached the forest floor. No animal approached. No mother stepped through the shadows to lift the baby from the dirt. The cries echoed unanswered again and again.
One ant climbed onto the soft skin of the infant’s eyelid. The baby screamed—its loudest cry yet—and its tiny hands rose shakily, trying to swipe at the burning sensation. But the motion was weak, clumsy, and too slow. The ant scurried away before the infant’s hand even reached its face.
Another group of ants reached its stomach, and the sensation made the baby’s entire body spasm. It screamed again, voice raw and frantic. The ants around its legs moved in quick lines, zigzagging across its skin. The newborn’s limbs thrashed, but every movement drained what little energy it had left.
Tears leaked from the corners of its closed eyes, mixing with dirt and sweat. Its breathing became rapid and shallow, each cry shorter than the last. Still, the newborn kept calling out, hoping that somehow, someone would hear, that the pain would stop, that warmth or safety would return.
But the forest remained silent.
And so the baby monkey lay there—tiny, trembling, unable to escape—as more ants crawled across its tiny body, its cries echoing through the uncaring jungle, growing weaker but still full of desperate, helpless pain.
