In the heart of a quiet village nestled against the edge of a dense forest, tragedy struck in a way no one could have anticipated. What began as a peaceful morning turned into a nightmare that would haunt the villagers for years to come. The air was still, the sun climbing gently into the sky, as new life cried out from a small mud house near the forest’s border. A newborn baby, only days old, lay wrapped in soft cloth, sleeping in the open courtyard under the watchful eyes of its mother.
But nature, so often serene and beautiful, can turn dark and unpredictable. The nearby forest was home to a troop of monkeys, long familiar to the villagers. They had names for many of them—Rozy being the most notorious. Known for her curious and aggressive nature, Rozy had grown fearless of humans. Some blamed it on villagers feeding the monkeys over the years. Others said Rozy had once lost a baby of her own, and something inside her had changed since then.
That morning, Rozy appeared out of the trees, moving with silent agility along rooftops and treetops. No one noticed her descent until it was too late. In a flash, she dropped into the courtyard and snatched the infant in her arms, mistaking it perhaps for one of her own—or simply driven by instincts no human could ever fully understand.
Panic erupted. The baby’s mother screamed, running after the monkey, but Rozy had already leapt into the high branches. The villagers chased, shouting, throwing stones, climbing after her, but she kept going—higher, deeper, faster. Rozy held the baby tightly at first, her eyes wild with confusion, perhaps even fear. The child cried, its tiny voice echoing through the forest canopy.
Then, in a heartbreaking instant, Rozy let go.
The baby’s fragile body fell, striking branches, leaves tearing past, until it hit the hard earth below. The forest went silent. The crying stopped.
Villagers rushed to the fallen child, but it was already too late. Blood pooled beneath the tiny form, and the last breath had long passed. Rozy remained high in the trees, watching. Some said she whimpered, as if she understood the irreversible weight of what she’d done. Others saw no remorse—only the blank stare of a wild creature lost in an alien world of human sorrow.
The incident spread like wildfire through local news and social media. People debated who was to blame—was it the monkey’s fault? The mother’s? The villagers’? Had humans encroached too far into wild territory, or had they simply forgotten the dangers of coexistence?
But for the mother, there was no debate. There was only grief, raw and unimaginable.
Rozy was never seen again.
What remained was the tragic memory of a life that had barely begun and ended far too soon—from the arms of a predator above to the silent, cold earth below.
