Historical
Duty Below the Line
His eyes opened to see the rising sun through his bedroom window as another day began. He felt his wife Susan cuddling up to him and her hand exploring under the blankets. It was the beginning of a long-standing custom they had when he was to depart on a journey. It would be their last love-making for some time and marked the beginning of a separation for them that may last up to a month depending on the terms of the voyage.
By Doug Caldwell4 years ago in Fiction
Forgotten Names
Forgotten Names The abandoned church has no roof. The altar wall and south transept are held up by timber and scaffolding. Inside, the burial plaques of the local notables are still visible, recording long lives and many children, whose life journeys had barely begun. On its own, by the font, is an elongated memorial, puzzling in its brevity. ‘ET, died 28 November 1718, age 84; GT died 7 May 1721, age 85.’
By Tony Warner4 years ago in Fiction
And Still They Played On
They weren’t going to make it, of that John Hume was sure. There were too few lifeboats, too much panic, and too cold of water. When he had walked across the pier onto the “unsinkable” ship four days prior, twenty-one year old Hume could never have guessed that this would be his fate. He tore open the door, peering down the hallway as people rushed to and fro. Across the hall, Percy used his body to prop open the door as he hefted his cello in front of him. With a grim, hopefully reassuring smile, Hume grabbed his violin case and headed up to the deck. It was bitterly cold, the frigidness of the night sky providing no warmth as he made his way over to the piano perched upon the deck, where Theodore already sat, playing a church hymn that made Hume smile despite himself. He set his case on the ground, pulled up a chair, and began tuning his violin.
By Robin Laurinec4 years ago in Fiction
The Saboteur
I have to assume they finally found the Titanic, or you would not be reading this. Before my death, I left explicit instructions with my barrister to leave this letter sealed until the remains of the old girl had been located. Now I, Patrick Callahan, saboteur extraordinaire, will tell you how the ship sank, and it wasn’t done by a bloody iceberg.
By Mark Gagnon4 years ago in Fiction
Make it for All of Us
The twelve inch disc began to spin, indicating that the recording session had begun. “I was twenty-eight at the time the ship sank. I was a janitor for the service that received telegrams.” Akron Fullington, a Negro man steadied himself in a chair in 1934 Wilmington, Delaware near his residence.
By Skyler Saunders4 years ago in Fiction
Uncle Thomas and The Clock Shop
My name is Stewart. Stewart Smalls. I didn't always own a clock shop, and I never imagined I'd end up living in New York. I was a British lad, born and raised on the streets. My parents were sickly and poor, and they passed away when I was a mere six years old. My older brother Jack was twelve at the time, and he became my caretaker. He showed me how to survive on the streets, until he ended up on the peg. Once he was jailed, I never saw him again. I was suddenly an orphan. Life taught me to fend for myself. I had nobody else, and the streets were hard.
By Stephen "Stefanosis" Moore4 years ago in Fiction
