In a quiet corner of the rainforest, far from human eyes, lived three little monkeys—Lulu, Bibi, and Koko. They were the smallest in their troop, always clinging to each other for comfort. Life wasn’t easy. Their jungle was shrinking, and food was getting harder to find.
One day, while they were playing near the edge of a road, a loud noise startled them. A large truck carrying logs came speeding by, and in a tragic moment, the three monkeys were struck. The driver never stopped. Dust filled the air, and silence followed—until their cries began.
Lulu’s leg was broken, twisted at an unnatural angle. Bibi couldn’t move at all; her back was injured badly. Koko, the smallest, whimpered in pain, his arm swollen and limp. None of them could walk. All they could do was cry—loudly, endlessly—calling for help that didn’t come.
Their troop, frightened and scattered, was nowhere nearby. For two days, the little monkeys lay in pain under the hot sun and cold night. Their cries echoed through the forest, heartbreaking and desperate.
Finally, a group of animal rescuers heard them. Carefully, gently, they lifted the monkeys and took them to a rescue center. There, the monkeys were cleaned, fed, and treated. But their injuries were severe. Doctors said they might never walk again.
Still, the crying stopped. Warm hands, soft blankets, and kind voices surrounded them now. Though their bodies were broken, their hearts slowly began to heal.
They became the quiet heroes of the rescue center—symbols of both suffering and survival. And while they could no longer swing through trees, they were finally safe, loved, and never alone again.
