Historical
The Offering
Nights the band played the same ragtime tunes but the dead danced differently on land. By the light of the fire, the women's hair floated translucent as they dipped and spun across the library. The men were equally languid, their black coattails fluttering behind them as their arms windmilled and their legs kicked out in slow motion. Sometimes one of the third-class passengers broke into an Irish jig and everyone joined in, whirling and clapping until Ismay got so dizzy he nearly passed out.
By Lori Lamothe4 years ago in Fiction
One Way to New York City, Please!
This story is based on the real lives of Annie McGowan and Fredrick Barrett, survivors of the Titanic. On the 2nd April 1912, the Titanic left Belfast and headed for Southampton. Unbeknownst to the crew and her creators, a small coal fire had been burning in the coal bunker of Boiler Room six for almost two weeks.
By Rosie J. Sargent4 years ago in Fiction
A Father’s Shadow and Its Deep Dark Depths
April 10, 1912 It is today that my hand is forced in taking a calculated risk. Father does not understand my neurosis, in fact, he abhors it at best. He claims that mother has coddled me, as I always was a sickly child. He believes that if I had spent more time outdoors in those earlier years that it would have served my health far better. He is as firm and fervent on that today as he was then; hence, his insistence on this venture. Along with his alleged claims of the fresh sea air doing my lungs some good, he also insists that as a young businessman I must learn the value of risk and reward. The potential for building connections and networking on this cruise is of utmost importance. The who’s who of businessmen will be on this ship’s historical maiden voyage. No sane or respectable man should refuse such an opportunity. However, this necessitates I do something I’ve feared for a long time; board a ship. I have done the best I can to mitigate various scenarios and put my mind at ease; despite this, my mind knows no such feeling.
By E.L. Martin4 years ago in Fiction
Tempting The Beastly Woodsman.
Chapter 1 Tempting The Beastly Woodsman 1872 Winter Bellshire America I t was a cold morning in Bellshire village. Autumn’s crisp air carried the scent that said winter was just around the corner. There was nary a soul around other than one young woman. Who stepped out of her home and headed to the edge of the supposedly haunted woods.
By Nalana Phillips4 years ago in Fiction
The Hope, The Faith, The Fear, and The Fury.
April, 15th. 1912 It was the type of Spring day in Belfast when a man could find the whimsy of old Ireland in the skies. Reaching through the bronchial clouds, gold, watery, fingers of light stretched from the heavens to caress the castles of the merchants, the mill owners, and the ship builders. Each great crane of steel, each new hull of ship, each black slate roof along the endless lines of terraced housing, shimmered beneath the divine touch. Smoke from the stalagmites of chimneys rose up like genies into the warm, rolling, sea breeze, joining in its whispers of hopefulness.
By Caroline Jane4 years ago in Fiction
Plead with the Fishes
April 15th 2:34 am “Papa!” Harvey Sawyer woke, drowning. The water so ice-cold it felt as though it cut through his skin like glass. He was submerged from the neck down; as he awoke, with a gasp - the water slicing along his throat – his eyes flew open, but there was only darkness.
By Bella Nerina4 years ago in Fiction
The Journey Home
The waves lapped against the pier as I stared into the dark water, I didn't want to leave Dublin but Father decided it would be for the best. I knew it was difficult for my folks to find work, I would lay awake and eavesdrop on their discussions. The decision to emigrate was made months ago, our money was scrimped and saved to purchase the tickets for a ship. Leaving my grandmother behind was the hardest thing for me to accept. “Liam,” she rasped to me as the tears streamed down my face, “be a good boy. Help your Mam and Da as much as you can. I can't make this journey, but I feel that you will do great things in America.” That was the last thing she said before kissing my forehead and turning towards the window in her wheelchair. I turned back one last time at the door to say goodbye, but the words got stuck in my throat. Grandma had turned to watch me go, her wrinkled face forced into a smile but her blue eyes betrayed her. They had a sadness to them, a deep sadness that spoke deeper than words ever could express. I stood in that doorway for a long moment, memorizing every line on her hands and face, her wispy iron-gray hair pulled back into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. Tears welled up in my eyes and I ran to her again, hugging her tightly. We stayed like that for a while before she gently pushed me away, her unwanted tears flowing now. She stroked my cheek gently and motioned for me to go.
By Tiggerish Eeyore (Aaron Wood)4 years ago in Fiction
