Kong (A James Conrad Love Story)

In the Beginning

*Ten Years Ago, 1963*

It was luck, really, that I survived. I mean, there was pretty much a zero percent chance of surviving on Skull Island. My parents, foolhardy as they were, knew exactly what they were getting themselves into. As a snobby sixteen year old who had been out of boarding school for about two months, I had absolutely no clue.

I suppose my parent's obsession started right around the time I was born. Mad scientists, the both of them. My mother heard a story, really a folktale, about a mysterious island in the South Pacific. A home of legends. So of course, she and my father set out to find the creatures that inhabited it. They called it 'the place where God did not finish creation.' I was only an afterthought in the process.

Our boat went right through the hurricane and still they refused to turn around. It was like a temporary disturbance to them, and they were already onto the next big thing. I could see a manic fascination in my father's eyes when he spoke of the island. Paradise, he said. I was less convinced.

Paradise quickly became a hell on earth. Nearly the moment we landed, in fact. It wasn't long before my parents realized the creatures were very, very real. And they weren't the beautiful, peaceful animals my parents had deluded themselves into thinking. My mother was the first to go, barely two days in. Got snatched up by a great flying monster, not ten feet from the boat. My father disappeared the next day. I spent two weeks hiding in the boat, hoping and praying that someone, anyone, would come for me. Our boat had broken down the second we ran it ashore, and I was no mechanic.

Finally, the food started to run out. The water barrel ran dry. I started venturing out during the day, slowly finding my way in the dense undergrowth. Figuring out what was safe and what wasn't. I rarely met any creatures, and the second I heard them, I was already halfway back to the boat. I never saw more than a flash in my peripheral vision, and that was perfectly all right with me.

I dined on onion roots and fruits, not brave enough to try anything that I didn't recognize in fear of poisoning myself. I skipped the meat, too terrified to even try hunting anything. I even ignored the fish that swam curiously around the boat, sure they would turn out to be some sort of monster like the ones on land. When the sun went down, I was in my boat without fail. I never wandered, never took a step out of the "safe zone." For six months.

Once six months passed, I decided that if I was going to die, I might as well go out in a blaze of glory rather than cowering in the boat. I left the sanctuary of my boat, vowing to never come back. There was so little on the boat that I could carry it all in my rucksack. A few bandages, a compass, and the last of the food. I tucked the flare gun from the boat into my waistband- better to at least pretend to have a weapon. Not that I had any idea how to fire it. I set off into the jungle, and I made myself a home at the edge of the jungle.

I was still waiting for someone to come, and I checked daily to see if there was anyone on the horizon. But nobody came near, and they were smart to do so. At that point, it was fairly clear that nobody was going to do a daring rescue and save me. So I had to save myself.