For ten long years, I was bound—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Shackled by circumstances beyond my control, my cries echoed through empty rooms, unheard, unanswered. Now, with the last of my strength, I reach out to you, King Monkey. Please help my family. Please help us untie the chains that have imprisoned our souls for far too long.
It all began a decade ago when tragedy struck our home. What was once a warm place filled with laughter became a cold prison of grief, fear, and silence. I was the first to fall—caught in a trap set by fate. Each link of the chain was forged by betrayal, poverty, and the loss of hope. But I was not the only one. One by one, my family was pulled into this invisible bondage. We weren’t tied by ropes, but by burdens: addiction, shame, regret, and generational trauma. We tried to fight back, but every attempt to break free only seemed to make the chains tighter.
King Monkey, in the ancient tales, you were the rebel, the warrior, the trickster who defied the heavens to protect the innocent. You shattered mountains and outwitted gods. You were bound once, too, under a mountain for 500 years. You understand our pain, our silence, our longing for freedom. That is why I call out to you—not as a god, but as a fellow prisoner who once found the strength to rise.
My family’s chains are not visible to the eye, but they cut just as deep. My father gave up on his dreams and drowned them in alcohol. My mother sacrificed her voice to hold us together. My younger siblings grew up watching the world from behind bars of inherited despair. And I—I stayed silent, convinced that our story was already written in stone.
But something in me changed. A flicker of courage, perhaps. A whisper from the past. A reminder that chains can be broken, but only if someone dares to pull.
So, King Monkey, lend us your strength. Teach us how to fight again—not with fists, but with spirit. Show us how to loosen the knots of resentment, of pain, of guilt. We do not ask for miracles, only guidance. A sign. A spark.
Ten years is too long to be silent. Too long to live in the shadows. We are ready to stand, even if our legs tremble. We are ready to heal, even if the scars remain. We are ready to be free, but we need help to find the key.
If you hear this, let it be known: our chains will not define us. Our story does not end in captivity. We believe in rebirth. We believe in strength. We believe in the impossible.
Help us, King Monkey.
