Historical
Depth of Emotion
Dr. Michael Lee checked the mini-sub’s depth gauge for the third time in the last ten minutes. There were still over three thousand feet until they reached the bottom. At a 100 feet per minute, Dr. Lee would have to endure another 30 minutes of babble from Mrs. Marie Teller. This was his seventh trip to the wreck of the Titanic, and it was the first time that his anticipation had been replaced with something new: dread. How would he ever endure this voyage with the dreadful woman at his side?
By Antonella Di Minni4 years ago in Fiction
Carpathia
For the first day after the girl moved into their cabin, Abigail never heard her speak. The girl’s mouth moved, Abigail could see that. But she never spoke out loud for Abigail to hear. Instead, the girl whispered strange and secret words to the small, porcelain doll that she clutched in her hands so tightly that Abigail thought it might have been frozen to her arms in the icy waters of the sea.
By Steve Hanson4 years ago in Fiction
Departure
Glenn Miller drooled out of the radio. Blue Orchids. He had numbly, faintly pressed the accelerator for some miles, from Haverford, past Ardmore and Wynnewood, really paying no attention at all to the road or the others he shared it with this night, and sputtered in aimless circles around the city proper until he gave out at 48th and Parkside.
By Koby Sampson4 years ago in Fiction
The Last Serenade
Each day, half an hour before the serving of meals, the string quintet arrived at the first-class dining room aboard the ship. They strode into the grand space, walking past the chandelier fixtures, crystal glass, and ornate china — everything new and in pristine condition. They wore tailored suits of dark fabrics and brought with them instruments in wooden cases. Each day, three times per day, the quintet prepared to perform as the regiments of servants about the dining room completed the last of the table-setting. They spoke quietly among themselves between sets of three-octave scales. They practised the intricacies of complex motifs, playing various measures from their repertoire of classical music.
By Hans Pohai Müller4 years ago in Fiction
Symphonies of the Sea
On a gray April morning, the carriage bounced and jostled over the uneven gravel road leading through the countryside from one city to another. Thin wisps of clouds moved gracefully over the rolling hills as Violet admired the beauty of the land. She took in a deep breath as she closed her eyes, painting a vivid image she could recall later when she became homesick. Amaranthine fields of lush green grass, strings of white snowdrops and pale yellow primroses, stone cottages entangled in gnarled vines, the bleating of sheep and braying of horses. Violet always preferred the peacefulness of the country over the stifling suffocation of the city. She would miss the natural splendor of the English landscape the most over the next few days. However, she also knew that the sea had its own unique elegance.
By Alyssa Musso4 years ago in Fiction
Over and over
Sun sloped over the rear steps of the American Bridge Community Centre, unseen. It narrowly escaped deprived daffodils, languishing over concrete that suffocated lives already gone. Inside the structure resided four teenagers, fixated on something that slowly reared into view and, once it did, may have provoked a laugh from any onlooker. But inside the building seriousness coated the walls, intensity as strong as the cool June breeze, in spite of the sun. The object of attention was a ship, located in a dense tank, where a despondent fragment of paper bobbed to the periphery of the model, flanked by impending doom. The fragment belonged to a sheet which, combined with another thirty, made up the musings of The Boston Film Club; a group of inexperienced, inharmonious dreamers, bonded by the silver screen. There was Jenny, the quaint, calculated ringleader, whose talent made up for other members’ lack of, and fueled their ambition. Then there was ‘vain’ Bobby, the pretty face of the team, whose charm all but ended there and shrewd ability to act rather masked an uninteresting personality. Next was Jonathan, whose great intellect diminished his otherwise mundane appearance, and love for the past rather filled in the historical side of this great escapade. Finally, there was Heather, whose fiery determination was both cause for conflict and entirely necessary, wielding productivity from an otherwise indolent group. All in all, The Boston Film Club was underwhelming, undersized and underappreciated, something each member knew all too well, yet refused to let temper dreams of stardom.
By Christy Clark4 years ago in Fiction
"Ship of Dreams" - "Unsinkable."
WHITE STAR LINE'S Titanic was the largest ship in the world, measuring four city blocks long and eleven stories high. She was the most luxurious -- even more luxurious than the prides of the rival Cunard Line, the Lusitania and Mauretania. Titanic could accommodate 3,547 passengers and crew. On her maiden voyage she carried approximately 2,200 people. First class accommodations on Titanic were marvelous, rivaling the best hotels on land. Second class passage was like first class on other ships, and a third class (also known as steerage) ticket was, in most cases, better than what the passengers experienced at home. She was called "The Floating City," "The Millionaires' Special," the "Ship of Dreams"..."Unsinkable."
By Oliver Moore Spin-Paradise4 years ago in Fiction
