By A. R. Raney
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In all of my life, I had never known that there could be such a shade of blue in the whole world, or that there could be so much of it. The ocean stretched out in all directions as far as the eye could see. A crisp, yet not unpleasant, wind was dancing around me as I stood on the deck of the ship. The marvelous Titanic, the greatest ship ever to be built. And I had the privilege to journey upon it on its maiden voyage. Not a sound from man or beast broke the silence; the only noise was the soft, steady lapping of waves against the side of the ship. It was like a dream. “Miranda, Irene says that you simply must come in now,” a high, feminine voice said, destroying the beautiful silence. “She says that you mustn’t be out in the cold for this long.” I sighed once, and then slowly turned around until I was facing my younger sister. “It is not cold,” I said, though I was beginning to shiver. I pulled my coat, which was threadbare in places and showed no evidence that it had once been as blue as the clear summer sky, around myself as discreetly as I could. “Go back inside, Elsie. I’ll be there in a moment.” “Irene says to come now,” Elsie insisted, stamping her foot against the wooden floor of the deck for emphasis. When it was obvious that she would not leave unless I came with her, I grudgingly consented, turning back to take one last glance at the breathtaking ocean and breathe one more breath of the salty air before following an impatient Elsie down the steep set of stairs and into a long corridor. Closed doors surrounded us on all sides, and a rich red carpet lined the floor. We traveled down the corridor until it branched off into another hallway, this one with no carpet, but only the bare wooden floor of the ship, scratched and marked from the many, many feet that had trodden it daily for as long as the ship had been at sea.
We were nearly at the end of the corridor before we reached our room. Elsie shoved the thick wooden door open and stormed in. I followed behind her.
Our oldest sister, Irene, sat on the bed crocheting something with pale green yarn. Though her gown was worn and of a dark grey color like stone, nothing like the fine gowns that many other passengers wore, she still managed to glow with a radiance that I had never seen on anyone else. She was beautiful, with long, soft brown hair tied back from her face by means of a headband she had crocheted out of red yarn; big, blue-gray eyes that always seemed to be laughing, and pink lips that were always smiling. Though she had become more matronly after our mother died of cholera, she still acted, in a way, like the big sister whom she had always been.
After a half-hearted reprimand about my sneaking out from Irene, the three of us sat down to our various tasks. Irene had finished her crocheting, which had turned out to be a scarf fit for a noblewoman, and began to sew a new dress for Elsie. Elsie herself was working on crocheting her first scarf. Her nine-year-old fingers dropped stitches, and her work was dreadfully uneven, but Irene praised it as if it were the finest garment she had ever seen. I, meanwhile, removed two stockings, one of which was mine and the other of which belonged to Irene, and began to darn the holes which gaped terribly at the toe.
After a couple hours of such tasks, we went to a dining hall for supper. We enjoyed a meal of baked fish, with a lovely plum pudding for dessert, before returning to our room. Irene had just finished Elsie’s dress, and I was in the middle of replacing a button on Irene’s nightgown, when we heard panicking voices raised in shouts of fear and confusion. Irene, keeping Elsie close by her side, sent me to find out what was happening. The first person I saw was a steward, who was dashing down the hall, a look of panic on his face. “What’s happening?” I asked him, forgetting all formalities. He turned his pale face to me.
“Do you not know?” he questioned. “The Titanic is sinking! The lifeboats are already being filled. Hurry!”
I stood there, shaking, as he ran off. Then I turned and ran as fast as I could to the little room that Irene and Elsie were still in.
“Miranda, whatever’s happening?” Irene asked, seeing my pale face. “The Titanic,” I began, and nearly choked on a sob of fear. “We, I mean the Titanic, is sinking! Oh, whatever will we do?” I flung myself at Irene, who was no longer smiling. “Miranda, are you certain? Are we really going down?” Irene asked slowly, holding Elsie, who was sobbing.
“It is true! I’m sure it is!” I said, holding back my own tears of desperation. “Then we run,” stated Irene, as calmly as if she were saying that we were going to take a walk in the gardens. “Come on.”
We fled, being picked up in the crowd that was moving swiftly towards the uppermost deck. When we reached the deck, we were forced to push through the crowd of crying, screaming, shouting people.
“This way!” Irene yelled, as she dragged Elsie towards a row of lifeboats. “Women and children first! Women and children first!” a man was yelling as he filled a lifeboat. When we arrived at the edge of the nearly-full lifeboat, he counted us and bit his lip, but remained silent.
Elsie was placed in the boat, and Irene followed. Then I boarded. Men tugged on ropes, murmuring that the boat was too heavy. I thought hard, and, taking one last glance at Irene, I slipped out of the boat. Irene did not notice until the lifeboat had nearly reached the water. Screaming, she tried to climb one of the grips.
“Miranda!” she yelled frantically. “No! I promised Mama that I would take care of you! Both of you! I won’t leave you, Miranda!”
Tears blurred my vision as I watched a couple of women grab Irene, who was wailing. I watched until they had rowed out of sight.
Once I had controlled my tears enough that I could see where I was going, I turned and pushed through the rough, wild crowd which had flocked to another lifeboat like sparrows to birdseed. My ears were becoming numb from all of the loud voices calling from every side. I could no longer make out the words; it had become a single wordless roar.
I had reached the side of a nearly full lifeboat. The man there smiled down at me, though he was clearly shaking, and reached out to help me into the last seat. My leg was in the boat, and I was about to put my other leg in as well, when an opulently dressed lady with blonde hair pushed me over. I lay on the deck, tasting blood. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the lady sit down in the seat that I had been going to take, and the lifeboat being lowered into the waves.
I stood up after a man stepped on my hand. I wandered around, searching for another lifeboat. Most of the women and all of the children, myself excluded, had already left. I only saw a few ladies, clutching men who were most likely their husbands, left on board. I was about to ask someone why they continued to stand there, when the Titanic suddenly lurched, knocking me over again. The ship was now at an alarming angle, and I rolled into a man with shiny black shoes. He helped me to my feet. Tears glistened in his eyes when he saw me, and that was when it hit me.
There were no more lifeboats.
I stood at the railing, looking out towards the sea. It no longer dazzled me; now it was terrifying. The waves lapped at the side of the ship hungrily. The voices suddenly quieted , and I
could hear music above the sound of the waves. Turning around, I saw the musicians, who continued to play as the Titanic sank lower into the sea. The salty air was nauseating. I had my back to the railing, watching the musicians dully. I was filled with hopelessness. This was the end. I leaned against the railing, which, to my horror, gave a sickening crack and gave way behind me.
I screamed. It seemed like I was falling for hours before I hit the water. It was so cold that my blood seemed to freeze in my veins. Salt water filled my mouth and nose, and I couldn’t hear the music anymore. Moments later, my eyes went under water, and everything became black.
I didn’t try to fight the waves. I felt myself sinking, but I didn’t care anymore. A voice was whispering “There is no escape,” in my mind. “There is no escape. There is no escape.” I closed my eyes, waiting for death to come. The cold was creeping into my bones.
Then, without warning, a picture of Irene came into my mind. She turned to look at me. “I promised Mama that I would take care of you. Both of you. I won’t leave you, Miranda.”
My chest felt tight, and it wasn’t only because of lack of air. My sisters were waiting for me.
I began a desperate swim upwards. My long skirts twisted around my legs and pulled me down. But I had to go to Irene. She was waiting for me.
My lungs felt like they were on fire and my limbs were dead weights when my head broke the surface. Night had fallen, and the only light came from the small sliver of moon and the sickly stars. I gasped for air.
When the salty water in my lungs had been mostly replaced by the equally salty air, I was able to look around. I saw a lifeboat bobbing in the water a few yards away. Though my arms and legs ached with exhaustion, I forced myself over to it, calling out every few minutes. I saw a woman’s head turn towards me, and for a moment I thought it was Irene. My heart was leaping for joy in my chest until the moonlight rested on her and I saw that her hair was as dark as the night.
The boat turned, heading towards me. I barely felt the arms that wrapped around my waist and pulled me out of the water, and I was slipping into unconsciousness as a blanket was wrapped around me.
“This is better,” I murmured as darkness came upon me again.
Several hours later, when I finally woke up, the sun was shining. A warm blanket was wrapped around me, and I was finally dry. A blurry face appeared in front of me, another one joining it a moment later. It took a few minutes for my eyes to clear, and longer still before I recognized the faces.
It was Irene and Elsie, both of whom were crying in relief and joy. Tears welled in my eyes as well, and soon we were all sitting together on the deck of a large ship, crying and hugging one another.
I had never been so happy.
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A. R. Raney is a weaver of worlds who strives to bring a little more light into the world. She is a wanderer, a world traveler, whose experiences have taught her much about this place called Earth. And not all of it is beautiful. She wants to fix that. And the truth is, she can’t. But there’s nothing to stop her from trying. That is why she takes up her pen. Because there is brokenness in the world. There is pain. Tears fall and hearts shatter. But there is beauty even here. And she intends to find it.
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