The baby monkey was young, curious, and full of life. Everything in the world was a game to him, and on that bright morning, he had found a new playmate—a tiny, fluffy chick. He watched it wobble on unsteady legs, peeping softly, unaware of the danger surrounding it. His small hands reached out, not to harm, but to touch, to feel, to play.
But the mother hen saw none of his innocence. To her, the monkey was not a playful friend but a looming threat, a predator with hands too large and unpredictable. Her protective instincts ignited like fire. With a sharp, piercing cry, she spread her wings wide, her feathers bristling, her beady eyes filled with fury. She would not let harm come to her fragile chick.
Before the baby monkey could understand what was happening, the attack came. The hen lunged forward with a force that seemed impossible for a creature her size. Her wings flapped violently, sending bursts of wind into his face. Her sharp beak struck his tiny hands, his soft fur, his delicate skin. Each peck stung, each blow a punishment for a crime he never meant to commit.
The baby monkey yelped in surprise and pain, stumbling backward. His big, round eyes, once filled with joy, were now wet with confusion. Why was she hurting him? He had only wanted to play. He had only wanted to share a moment of happiness with the chick. But the hen saw only danger, and she attacked without mercy.
The little monkey whimpered, his tiny hands clutching his bruised arms. The mother hen stood protectively over her chick, daring him to come closer. But he no longer wanted to. His heart ached more than his wounds. He had never felt such rejection before, such cruelty in response to kindness.
Slowly, he turned away, his small body trembling. The chick peeped once, but its mother silenced it with a stern look. The baby monkey cast one last glance at the chick, then disappeared into the trees, carrying with him the weight of a lesson he was too young to understand—a lesson about the world’s harshness, about how even the purest intentions could be met with pain.
And so, in the golden light of morning, he left, a little lonelier than before.