Godzilla vs. Kong by Greg Keyes (read people like a book .txt) 📕

time. And though they tasted foul, he ate them, for there was little left to eat.

Then, one morning, the sky was clear, the jungle green and alive, as he remembered it. But small, somehow. Not the way it had been. And the colors, the smells…

He looked up at the sky, clean and blue, and for some reason it made him angry.

*   *   *

Jia woke, shivering, pushing a dream away, trying to keep it from her waking thoughts. She didn’t want it here, with her, in Mother’s house. Let it stay in the strange place between true sleep and waking where it belonged, with the other bad things.

But then she knew; her dream had not been about herself; it had been about Kong.

She went to the window, pushing aside the drapes and looking out into the jungle, but she didn’t see him. She glanced at Ilene-Mother, sleeping, and then made her decision. She grabbed her unfinished Kong totem, slipped out the front door and ran, barefoot through the jungle. Here she knew all of the trails, and she had no fear of the bad things. She remembered them, of course, but they were gone now, or far away. She had not believed it at first, but then she had come to understand. The bad things were gone. Along with everything else.

Kong was starting to understand, too. When he did, he would be upset. When that happened, she should be there. And although she could not remember her dream, or the sound that had wakened her, she had a feeling about it. That today might be the day.

She found him, but he seemed okay. She noticed a little clearing, and a rock to sit on. She waited there, working on the little Kong totem. Just in case.

*   *   *

Kong shook the last of the dream from his eyes, from where it had settled like dust on his fur and limbs. He found the running water and waded through it until he came to where it fell in a great rush from high above. He put his head into the falling water, then his whole body, let it beat down on him, flow through his fur, cooling him, bringing him further out from the place he sank into when his eyes were closed.

He looked at the sky again, at the bright light of day. He scowled, thumped his chest once. The sky and the sun did not respond to his threat. That was nothing new, but somehow, today, it felt as if they might. As if they were somehow an enemy that had sneaked up on him.

In the nearby forest, he picked out a tree of the right size. He grasped it and heaved it from the dark soil, tested its weight. He twisted off the part that went into the dirt and then he stripped off the limbs and broke off the top part, which was too thin. He began grinding the light end of the shaft against a stone, until it formed a point. He hefted it again.

Then he saw her, the little one. She stood looking up at him, holding up an even smaller thing toward him. For a moment, he felt his anger lessen. He remembered her kind, the little ones. Finding her in the tree and taking her under his protection. He leaned down near, making eye contact, so she would know he saw her and was glad that she was there.

But even she could not make him forget his purpose. He stood back up, lifting the thing he had made from the tree. Then he took aim at the sun.

When he was smaller, he had done that many times, and also thrown things at the dimmer orb of night. He did not like things that were out of his reach, and although he had always been disappointed his missiles fell short of their radiant targets, he had thought one day he would hit them. When he was bigger and could throw further.

Then he’d had other concerns and stopped thinking so much about the round-sky things and how to hit them.

But he was bigger now and had taken a dislike to the bright circle and the sky that held it aloft.

He let the tree fly, grunting as he put his whole body into the throw.

Up it sailed, high above the trees, the cliffs, far into the blue sky. He watched, concerned it would fall short once more, but hoping it would not.

Then the tree hit the circle light of day, with a sound like stone cracking.

Kong stared for a moment, unsure what had happened. Weird patterns of light flickered above, and the dead tree stayed where it was, stuck in the circle of daylight.

He roared in anger, staring at where he had wounded the sky, at the strange way it bled.

*   *   *

Jia stopped, looked up to where the tree was stuck in the sun. Even though she knew, even though she understood, it was still strange to see. Kong kept looking at it, making angry, uncertain noises.

She ran up close and got his attention again by shaking a sapling near him, then waving her arms. He resisted looking down at first, but then he noticed her. He tilted his head, and his expression softened a little.

I know it’s strange, she signed. It’s okay. It’s okay.

His hand came down near her. He extended one of his fingers, carefully. She placed her hand on it.

Try not to be mad, she signed, touching his hand. He looked at her, then back at the fake sun he had stabbed, then turned his head to take it all in.

She hadn’t understood at first, either. She had seen the ships, the flying machines, the odd houses the Awati built. But this had been more than she could imagine, at first. A house so big it looked like the jungle. Outside, the sky was dark, even in the day, and the storms never stopped. Inside, the sky was blue, and the sun shone down.

But it was not