This is the first chapter of my King Kong story, based on the 2005 movie.I absolutely fell in love with it, and knew instinctively I'd end up writing some fanfiction for it, sooner or later. In reality, it was sooner.
I'd love some feedback – all constructive comments would be greatly appreciated.
I hope to have the next chapter up in a week or so. I would also kill for a beta, so if anyone is interested, please email me (link in my profile).
Disclaimer: I am not in anyway affiliated with King Kong or any of the characters. Hey, don't you think my neighbours would notice if I started keeping a 25ft ape in my back garden?
Chapter I: It's Not About Words
The sky was disrupted, the purity of its beauty gone, diminished. It had passed the transition point of dawn and was now completely daylight. It had chosen a side. Things weren't meant to stay in limbo.
Now there was no limbo. There was no midpoint. It had happened, and the silence of the aftermath was deafening. The wind whistled around the building's peak, the only sound on the air. The planes had gone, what was left of them, without looking back. No remorse. No thought about the life they had just taken. Nothing.
The noise below on the streets could not taint the pure silence up here. Below, people screamed, flashbulbs went off, reporters cried out questions, children screamed in wonder and naiveté and cops barked out orders, trying to restore some sort of order, even though the natural order had already been tipped.
Up on the plateau, a façade of serenity reigned. Everything was still, the building preserved in concrete and the two people holding onto each other, a single entity. The cold was unable to touch them, as they clung to each other for dear life. If they let go of each other, they would fall, both literally and metaphorically. In the figurative sense, if they let go of each other, they would fall apart because whilst they were this close, shielding each other, they could deny what had just happened. They could secretly close their eyes and delude themselves into thinking that when they opened them, none of this would have happened.
They were out of time. Every passing minute felt like an hour, a day, a year, almost indefinable. Nothing seemed to change. It was as though they ingrained themselves into the unforgiving steel and concrete of the building, removed from life below, but so obvious that they couldn't be missed.
The cold seeped into Jack's bones, and yet he didn't want to move. Not yet. He had to stay in this position, just to convince himself that it was real. Ever since he saw Kong take Ann, he'd been holding back the fear in his mind, blocking it out so that he could use judgement and rationality to try and resolve the situation. It almost surprised him, what he'd done. He wasn't the hero. He was the person who watched, observed, and noted it all down with a few strokes of a pen or a few taps on a typewriter. He wasn't used to being the hero, but he'd done it almost without thinking.
It must have depended on who the heroine was.
When he'd seen Ann on the roof, just seconds after Kong fell, everything seemed to stop. She'd looked delicate, fragile even, with the glittery jewels in her hair and ears, and the long silvery white dress that showed her almost translucent skin. He could see through that though. He knew just how strong she was.
She'd turned around then, and he could see the tears in her eyes. They looked strange, running down her porcelain face. Her face told him everything. She wasn't crying out of self-pity, or anger, or hysterical shock. She was crying because no-one else would cry for the death of Kong. She was the only person who could ever see through him for what he was, an animal, as capable of compassion as any animal. She was the only person who could bring out that in him, a curiosity coupled with a desire to protect her.
He wished he could say something. Something to sum up everything that had happened. To make her realise how strong he thought she was. To make her understand how glad he was to see her okay and safe. To make her recognise what he felt. But his mouth was dry and no words seemed to come out.
All Jack could do was to hold her. Protect her. And so they slipped out of time again, no thoughts or ideas running through either of their heads, just standing, in a silent sentinel for the end of a king. For the end of beauty.
Without warning, an unexpected sound rent the air, and the sound of it made the wind die down, greeting the new noise cautiously and curiously. It was a sob. There was no sound as human, as natural as that noise, and with it the ice around them started to melt, taking them back into time. The sudden feelings of pain, death and regret became almost tangible to the two of them, every emotion overwhelming their drained bodies. Still, they didn't break their position. Ann felt as though if she tried to stand on her own, she would fall down. She wanted to close her eyes and block everything out, but she couldn't. When she closed her eyes, all she saw was Kong falling backwards, blood seeping from the bullet wounds in his chest…
"I did this to him," she said, breaking the silence, her words coming out breathlessly and yet calmly, her voice hollow and flat. "It's my fault."
What can you say to something like that?
"No," Jack breathed, willing her with every fibre of his being to rid herself of that thought. He wished he could just purge her of it, make her forget it. He knew though that nothing he could say would make it happen. "No, it wasn't your fault."
"It was me," she said with conviction. "He wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me. If I hadn't gone on that stupid voyage he'd never have met me. He'd never have come to New York and been shot down by planes–" here, another, smaller sob escaped her lips, but she controlled herself and continued speaking calmly. "It's all my fault. All of it."
"No, it's not. He didn't come because of you. He came because of a greedy man who would kill his own mother if he thought a film company would buy the idea. Believe me Ann, it's not your fault. You made his life better because you cared about him and tried to save him."
She sobbed once more, burying her face in his shoulder, but he could feel her breathing calm, and her back stopped heaving and she relaxed. He pulled her closer in to him, feeling her heavy glittery earrings digging into his collarbone, but he didn't want her to move.
"Ann–" he whispered then stopped. He didn't know how to say what matters. He thought it would be easier; when he sits down with a pen in his hand, it all flows more naturally than breathing. Now though, he felt like a character in one of his plays, at the whim of a force beyond his control. He only knew that he had to say something, to relieve the pressure building up within him.
"What?" she asked, her eyes meeting his. He knows then, that the words don't matter.
"It's not about words," he said, half to her, but half to himself. Ann recognised the phrase from one of their first conversations on the SS Venture. She almost wanted to ask him what he meant, but something stops her. Instead, she leaned her face in, closer to his, feeling the softness of his lips. The kiss between them was gentle, but it sent warmth through her veins, like liquid fire, melting her last strains of denial and numbness. She became acutely aware of his hands on her back, and her body against his. Every nerve in her body seemed to be functioning three times faster than usual, sending shocks down her spine.
She was human again. Not a machine, locked into a cycle of hardness and guilt, but a human, able to love and move on. She still felt the guilt and raw pain caused by the death of Kong, but she knew she wasn't alone.
The sky burnt the pure pink-orange of dawn. It seemed like the world could at least still appreciate beauty.
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