The little baby monkey sat alone on the dusty ground, his tiny body shaking as soft cries escaped his throat. His stomach hurt badly. It had been too long since he last drank milk. Hunger was no longer just a feeling—it was pain.
His small hands pressed against his belly as if he could stop the aching inside. Tears rolled down his thin face, leaving clean lines through the dirt on his fur. He opened his mouth wide and cried louder, hoping someone—anyone—would hear him.
But the forest was busy with its own life.
Birds flew overhead. Leaves rustled in the wind. Other monkeys moved through the trees. None of them stopped. None of them came down to help the tiny baby whose cries were becoming weaker and weaker.
He tried to stand.
His legs trembled immediately. He took one tiny step and fell forward onto his hands. The fall didn’t hurt much—but it showed how weak he had become. Hunger had taken his strength.
“Mom…” his broken cry seemed to say.
He looked toward the trees where he had last seen her. His eyes were red and swollen from crying. Every sound made him hopeful for one second, then disappointed the next.
His mouth searched for milk that wasn’t there.
Instinctively, he sucked on his own fingers, pretending they were his mother’s breast. But no warm milk came. Only air. Only emptiness.
The baby’s cries grew softer now, less sharp, more desperate. It wasn’t just hunger anymore. It was fear. It was loneliness. It was the deep need for comfort that only a mother could give.
His tiny ribs showed as he breathed quickly. His body felt cold even though the sun was still up. Without warm arms holding him, everything felt colder than it should.
He curled into a small ball.
His tail wrapped around his own leg. His arms hugged his chest tightly, trying to replace the hug he longed for. His sobs became small hiccups. His voice was tired.
So pitiful.
A baby so small should not feel this much pain. He should be sleeping against his mother’s chest. He should be drinking milk, feeling safe. Instead, he was counting moments between cries, hoping each one would bring help.
Time felt slow.
The baby lifted his head again and cried one more time—weak, shaky, full of need. His eyes searched the trees, shining with tears and hope that refused to disappear completely.
Even in hunger, even in weakness, he still believed she might come.
That is what made it heartbreaking.
A tiny life, crying not just for food—but for love. 🐒💔
