Deep in the heart of the dense jungle, where towering trees stretched toward the sky and vines draped like curtains over hidden pathways, a young monkey named Brutus Jr. played among the branches. He was full of energy, swinging effortlessly from tree to tree, his tiny hands gripping the rough bark as he chased butterflies and chattered at the birds.
Brutus Jr. was the son of Brutus, the strongest and wisest monkey in the troop. His father had taught him how to survive in the jungle, warning him about the dangers that lurked beneath the leaves and in the murky waters. But like any curious young monkey, Brutus Jr. often forgot his father’s advice when adventure called.
One humid afternoon, while the jungle buzzed with the sounds of chirping insects and rustling leaves, Brutus Jr. wandered near a small, muddy pond. The water was dark and still, with floating lily pads and twisted roots poking from beneath the surface. Thirsty from playing, Brutus Jr. crouched near the edge and dipped his tiny hands into the water, splashing it over his furry face.
As he leaned in for a sip, something slimy brushed against his leg. At first, he thought it was just a harmless fish or a stray leaf. But then—pain.
A sharp, burning sensation shot through his skin. Brutus Jr. let out a loud screech, his small body jerking back in panic. He looked down and saw it—a massive, wriggling leech latched onto his leg.
The leech was bloated and black, its slimy body pulsing as it fed greedily on his blood. Brutus Jr. screamed in terror, his cries echoing through the jungle. His tiny hands frantically clawed at the parasite, but the leech’s grip was strong, its needle-like mouth buried deep into his flesh.
Tears welled up in his big, frightened eyes as he jumped up and down, hoping to shake off the horrible creature. His cries grew louder, desperate, and soon, the jungle began to stir.
High above, the other monkeys heard his wails. His mother, a gentle but fierce monkey named Luma, immediately recognized her baby’s distress call. With a heart full of fear, she raced through the treetops, her powerful limbs swinging from branch to branch.
Brutus Jr.’s father, the mighty Brutus, was not far behind. His deep, booming call sent a warning through the trees—his son was in danger.
Brutus Jr. continued to sob, his little body trembling. The pain was unbearable, and the leech only grew fatter, its body swelling with his stolen blood. He had never felt such horror before. The thought of being drained dry made him wail even louder.
Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, a strong, familiar hand grabbed him. His mother pulled him into her warm embrace, her sharp eyes instantly spotting the leech. With her quick reflexes, she reached down and ripped the parasite away with her teeth, spitting it onto the jungle floor.
Brutus Jr. gasped, his chest heaving with relief, but the wound on his leg still bled. His father arrived just in time, carrying a special leaf in his mouth. Brutus, being the wise leader he was, knew exactly what to do. He chewed the leaf into a paste and gently pressed it against his son’s wound.
Brutus Jr. whimpered, but the soothing effect of the jungle medicine soon eased his pain. He sniffled, nuzzling into his mother’s fur, feeling safe again.
The jungle fell silent once more, the crisis averted.
As the troop gathered around him, offering comforting touches and reassuring chirps, Brutus Jr. realized something important—he should have listened to his father’s warnings. The jungle was beautiful, but it was also full of dangers.
From that day on, he stayed far away from the murky waters, forever remembering the day the big leech had tried to steal his blood.
And in the shadows, the discarded leech slithered back into the darkness, waiting for its next victim.
