It was supposed to be an ordinary morning in the village edge, where the troop of monkeys play and search for breakfast among the fruit trees and warm sunlit roads. But today, little Lori’s world changed in an instant.
Curious and playful, Lori had wandered close to the roadside — a place Mama always warned her to stay away from. But the rustle of a dropped fruit, the scent of something sweet, pulled her tiny feet closer and closer.
In a blink, the quiet hum of the road turned into a loud, sudden roar. A car sped by too fast, too close — and poor Lori didn’t have time to run. The tire caught her soft tail and threw her tiny body into the dust.
Now, she lies curled beneath a quiet bush, eyes wide with pain and fear. Her little tail is wounded badly, the fur torn and red where it shouldn’t be. She tries to clean it the way Mama taught her, licking the hurt over and over — but the pain makes her whimper softly, tiny cries that break the quiet morning.
Mama rushes to her side, her worried calls echoing through the trees. She grooms Lori’s fur gently, nose pressed close to check the wound again and again. The other monkeys gather near, clicking their teeth in worried whispers.
Again and again, Lori tries to stand, but the pain makes her flop down, pressing her tail tight under her belly to protect it. She looks up at Mama with wide, tearful eyes — too small to understand why this happened, too young to fix it alone.
All she wants is to heal and play again, to feel the warm sun on her back without the sharp sting of pain. For now, all she can do is rest, wrapped in Mama’s arms — hoping tomorrow will hurt a little less.
