Pity filled the air when the big monkey stood over the little baby monkey, its presence heavy and frightening. The baby was so small, barely able to understand what was happening, only able to feel fear and pain in its tiny body. It cried loudly, not knowing why the world had suddenly become so dangerous.
The big monkey did not see weakness as something to protect. It saw movement, sound, and something unfamiliar. The baby curled inward, instinctively trying to shield itself, its small arms trembling as it cried. Every sound that escaped its mouth was a call for mercy, though mercy did not come easily.
The baby’s eyes were wide with terror, shining with tears. It did not fight back. It could not. It only tried to survive by staying still, hoping the threat would pass. The ground beneath it felt cold and unforgiving. Each moment stretched painfully long.
Pain was not just physical. Fear pressed down on the baby’s heart, making it hard to breathe. It did not understand cruelty. It only understood that it was hurt and alone. The big monkey’s actions were careless and wrong, driven by dominance rather than need.
The forest seemed to hold its breath. Leaves did not move. Birds stayed silent. Even the wind felt hesitant, as if the world itself disapproved of what was happening. The baby’s cries grew weaker, turning into soft whimpers as exhaustion set in.
Pity deepened because the baby was innocent. It had done nothing to deserve fear or suffering. It only wanted warmth, milk, and safety. Instead, it faced danger far beyond its strength. Its small body shook, not just from pain, but from shock.
At last, the big monkey stepped away, leaving the baby curled on the ground. The baby lay still for a moment, unsure if the danger was truly gone. Its breathing was shallow, uneven. Slowly, it lifted its head, eyes searching the space around it.
The baby did not scream anymore. It no longer had the strength. Silence replaced sound, and that silence was heavy with sadness. The baby tried to move, testing its limbs carefully. Pain reminded it to be slow.
Pity turned into heartbreak. The baby had survived, but survival had a cost. Fear would linger long after the danger passed. Trust would take time to return. The world no longer felt safe.
Somewhere nearby, other monkeys stirred. The forest resumed its quiet life. But for the baby, everything had changed. It learned too early that strength can hurt, and that safety is fragile.
Still, the baby lived. That mattered. Its heart continued to beat, small but determined. It curled into itself again, conserving warmth and strength. Instinct told it to endure.
Pity does not mean weakness. It means recognizing suffering and wishing it had never happened. The baby deserved care, not cruelty. Protection, not fear.
In the vast forest, the little baby monkey remained, wounded but alive. Its future was uncertain, but hope still flickered quietly inside. As long as it breathed, there was a chance for healing, for kindness, and for a world that would one day be gentle again.
