Mother Monkey Hit Her Little Baby Non-Stop
The forest was alive with its usual songs, but in one small corner, beneath the wide branches of a tall tree, a heartbreaking scene was unfolding. A mother monkey, usually a creature of care and warmth, was overcome with anger and impatience. Her little baby, no more than a fragile infant with thin fur and bright eyes, clung helplessly to her chest. Yet instead of comforting it, the mother struck the tiny body again and again, each blow echoing through the quiet space like a crack of thunder.
The baby squealed in pain, its tiny arms flailing, trying desperately to shield itself. Its eyes, wide and wet, searched for safety in the face of the one who was supposed to protect it. But the mother seemed blind to those cries. Her hands, strong and unrelenting, pushed and hit, her face twisted with a harshness that seemed unnatural in a parent. The baby tumbled against the rough bark of the tree, its soft body bruised by both the strikes and the unforgiving surface.
Every time the infant tried to crawl back toward her for comfort, the mother’s hand came down again, sharp and merciless. The cries grew louder, shrill and desperate, but no gentleness came. Instead, the rhythm of striking carried on, as though she could not stop herself. The little monkey tried to hide beneath her legs, curling into the smallest shape it could manage, but the blows still found it. Its thin voice broke into sobs, weak gasps mixed with tiny screams, a sound that cut into the heart of anyone who might have heard it.
Leaves scattered from the tree as the commotion shook the branches. Birds flew away, startled by the noise, but the mother paid no attention. She struck and shoved, ignoring the baby’s trembling body. The infant’s once bright fur became dirty and matted, smeared with mud as it slipped across the ground each time she knocked it aside. Its chest rose and fell in frantic rhythm, little lungs struggling for breath between sobs.
What was most pitiful was the way the baby still reached out for her. Even after being hurt again and again, the little monkey’s arms stretched toward its mother, seeking the comfort that nature had promised but reality had denied. Every hit pushed it away, yet still it tried to return, crawling, whimpering, and clinging with desperate hope. The bond of love that should have been unbreakable was being shattered blow by blow, though the baby’s heart refused to give up.
The mother’s anger did not ease. Her movements grew harsher, louder, more frantic. She dragged the infant by its tail, then released it only to strike again. The cries had grown weaker, turning into broken whimpers, but she did not pause. The storm of her hands raged on. The baby’s body sagged under the endless punishment, its small limbs losing the strength to resist. Its head drooped low, eyes closing and opening in exhaustion, but even then, the mother’s strikes did not stop.
For a moment, the baby rolled onto its back, paws curled tightly against its chest as if trying to guard its tiny heart. The rain of blows continued, each one making its frail body jolt. The little monkey whimpered softly, almost soundless now, the energy drained from its voice. Its once playful spirit, once filled with the joy of climbing and learning, had been drowned in fear and hurt.
The forest around them grew still, as if even nature itself was holding its breath in sorrow. No other monkeys came near; perhaps they watched from afar, afraid or unwilling to intervene. The baby lay curled, the mother looming above it, her shadow heavy with cruelty. Her chest heaved as she struck again, her fury seemingly endless, as though she were trapped in a cycle she could not escape.
The most heartbreaking part was the silence that followed each cry. The baby no longer had the strength to scream. Its voice, once sharp and loud, had faded to a whisper. The only sounds left were the dull thuds of the mother’s hands and the faint rustle of leaves each time the little body shifted. Yet even in its weakness, the infant lifted a trembling hand, reaching upward toward her face, a final plea for kindness.
But the blows did not stop.
Time stretched on endlessly. The little one shivered, its body marked with the evidence of suffering—scratches, bruises, patches of fur torn loose. Its breaths grew shallow, each one a fragile effort. Still, it did not resist, did not run. Instead, it remained close, clinging weakly to the only figure it had ever known, even if that figure was the source of its pain. The innocence of its heart believed that if it stayed, if it endured, perhaps someday her hands would soften again.
The mother’s anger finally began to slow, though not from kindness—rather from exhaustion. Her arms lowered, her breathing hard and heavy. She sat still, glaring down at the broken little creature at her feet. The baby curled tightly, whimpering, too weak to move. Drops of sweat and dust clung to its fur, and its tiny eyes were swollen with tears. Yet even then, it tried to inch forward, dragging itself closer to her, pressing its trembling body against her leg.
That tiny act of love, of forgiveness, was the truest tragedy of all. Despite the endless strikes, the baby still longed for her warmth, still believed she was its home. Its tiny hands clutched her fur, its head pressed to her knee, and in that position it trembled, waiting—waiting for a touch that soothed instead of hurt.
But the mother remained cold, her eyes staring away, her heart locked in a place beyond tenderness. The silence hung heavy, broken only by the faint whimpers of the infant and the echo of all the strikes that had fallen before.
The forest had witnessed a scene of cruelty that words could scarcely hold: a mother’s hands, relentless and harsh, and a baby’s heart, endlessly forgiving. It was a story of pain without reason, of innocence crushed but still reaching, of love battered yet unbroken.
And there, beneath the fading light of the day, the baby monkey’s trembling body clung once more to its mother, desperate, fragile, and pitifully loyal—waiting for the warmth that might never come.
