Historical
The Titanic's Thief
Willow sauntered across the deck of the magnificent titanic. Her dark soil hair was flying with the wind. The moonlight reflected on her long black cloak creating an illusion of shadows. She had spent every last penny, pulled every last straw to get her on the Titanic and she expected nothing less than to get every single penny back. This was a gold rush thriving with rich people who were too busy sipping tea and stuffing their faces to feel a small smooth hand find there way into their pockets.
By Leielle Bocman4 years ago in Fiction
The Road of Tears and Dreams
April 12, 2022 The fire used to burn brightly during the dark nights when my grandma would sit me down on her knee and tell me stories. It would crackle and pop during all her silent moments, and the hairs on my arms would stand on end. Sometimes near the end of her stories, her voice would get quiet, a shadow would appear in the window, and then a cold breeze would flow through the room. Even the hairs on the back of my neck rose; I would get goose bumps and chills as sweat started dripping down my back. It was always at this moment that the swashbuckling hero made his escape. He would dive into the icy Atlantic, sinking, drowning, gasping for breath, and occasionally swimming. My heart would start pounding a mile a minute, as I saw an old steel ship approaching the hero. The warm steel hull of the ship, creating steam where it made contact with the Artic waters, broke waves like a tornado broke houses: sending pieces flying everywhere. The hero would call out, only to be thrown under by these mighty waves. The ship passed...
By Colleen Sincavage4 years ago in Fiction
The Adventures in Everywhere: Prequel
March 10th, 2022 Report of James Videl, a diver and explorer of shipwrecks. This report is about a recent discovery made during a submarine dive to the R.M.S. Titanic. A small watertight safe was located on the seafloor approximately halfway between the main stern and bow wreckage pieces. We retrieved it to examine the contents and had a difficult time opening the safe. After a large amount of persuasion, we found a perfectly preserved leather bound journal. Inscribed on the front was the name "Thomas Graham". After doing some research, the team found that Thomas Graham was a reporter with the New York Times. The answers as to why he was on the Titanic seem to be obvious, but why his journal would be in a watertight safe, we aren't sure. We are hopeful his journal will say.
By Nicholaus Brownlee4 years ago in Fiction
Something White in the Distance. Runner-Up in Ship of Dreams Challenge.
Wednesday, April 10, 1912 If it hadn’t been for the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, Emily would have sprinted up the gangway. Salt air whirled though the Southampton morning. Her ticket crumpled in her fist. She should tuck it into her pocket, but she didn’t dare. She needed to feel it in her hand. To see the words RMS Titanic in bold black ink. A year’s savings from her slim earnings. Second-class passage to America. To William. To their life together.
By Heather Chock4 years ago in Fiction
The Box of the Captain's Table. Runner-Up in Ship of Dreams Challenge.
Madelaine was rummaging in the archives of the lower basement, like usual. Why sweat and work yourself to a lather in the field, when you can work in the sub-basement on the hottest day and still be cool? And she still got to unearth treasures. Sure, someone else had found them first, but then they were stored and forgotten after being itemized - if they'd ever been properly itemized at all. Forget being filed; things were just dumped hodgepodge in boxes and crates as they were donated. She'd gotten a small wall's worth of proper filing totes and a handful of markers, and would only re-emerge blinking into the sunlight at meals or quitting time. But things were finally sorted in a way to be useful to future researchers... especially if you liked ledgers. Chock full of ledgers, they were. The local small town banks had donated them all when the big city takeover was complete, with contents and assorted ephemera that they'd gathered from the corners and storage rooms. No complete inventory had been successful, but Madelaine was more determined than usual. Being the re-discoverer, as it were - and displaying or storing things properly - was so much more fun than arguing with arrogant know-it-all entities about just how significant the placement of the jar on the left or right side of the burial meant if it was male or female.
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Fiction
The Stowaway
Like anchors, my feet weighed me down. They weren't moving. My brain screamed, but nothing. Kick your feet! Why aren't you kicking your feet? Nothing happened. My body wasn't listening to my brain as I slipped deeper and deeper into the cold abyss of the ocean. What happened?
By Jason Ray Morton 4 years ago in Fiction
And Then
The fresh ocean breeze caressed my cheeks and brushed my long curls that hung loosely down my back. I drew in a deep breath letting the cool air settle into the depths of my lungs enjoying the freedom as it washed over me. The sun was high in the sky, the ship was out of the harbour and sailing into the open waters. Looking back I saw the dock shrinking slowly, the people running about beginning to look like ants and the sound of the city fading so all that was left was the rushing of water down below. I decided to find my room and get settled.
By Shealynn Dubrule4 years ago in Fiction
Secrets
I’d known Derek Hastings my entire life, but never truly considered him until this moment. We first met when I was five and he was six, when his family moved into a brownstone just a few houses down from our own. We’d gotten along easily enough and found a mutual love for getting into trouble, whether it was cutting the hair off of his sister’s dolls, pouring ink into my mother’s tea, or hurling dirt clods at carriages as they drove down our street.
By Madeline Stone4 years ago in Fiction
Anchored
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” said the visitor. Charles lit up his cigarette and took a hit. “I am very interested in hearing the story that you told the good Doctor Mason.” Charles, appearing uncomfortable and reserved, readjusted himself in his seat. “I could come back another time. Perhaps after lunch?” Charles sat up and cleared his throat, “I don’t eat much.” “Do you talk much?” asked the visitor. Neville looked around the room to find everything in disturbing order; the bed was crisp, as if it had been untouched, and the shoes and garments were neatly kept. The only evidence of life in the room was a succulent in the window, a completed crossword puzzle from the folded up newspaper, and a steaming ashtray. “People seem to only want to talk about one thing,” he said with disappointment. Neville nodded, took out his voice recorder, and pulled up a chair, “The Titanic, yes? Well,” he paused, “Are you ready to go back?”
By Taimane Mitchell4 years ago in Fiction
Navratil's Boys
For the fourth night in a row, Michel Navratil lay awake on the top berth in his second-class cabin. He was attempting to fall asleep, and the roar of engines served only to stir up the consternation in his mind like some warm sea. He shuffled his body to the side of the wooden railing and yanked the velvety blue blanket under his chin and then over either side of his face, around his fashionable handlebar mustache in a futile attempt to muffle the endless noise.
By Katie Teesdale4 years ago in Fiction
