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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required This is for the Contest - 'Titanic - Fare Thee Well' Sponsored by Tom Woody. 15th April 1912 My dearest Charles, I am writing you this letter in the cold, early morning hours. By tomorrow, you will be reading about the most luxurious ocean liner, Titanic, lying in a wreck at the bottom of the ocean. Meeting its doom in the merciless greed of the icy waters, sucking it slowly, savouring every trinket, devouring jewels and rare gems, gold-rimmed crockery, crystal glasses and decanters, fine silk couture and expensive leather boots. My dearest, I can only imagine how horrified you will feel reading all this and how you will go through this depressive state of blaming yourself. Can I beg you not to, PLEASE? When I heard the first distress horn, I had hoped it was only minor. However, as I watch, I realise the problem is far more severe. An hour has passed, and I see families cling to each other, crying. Crew members rush around, trying to calm and reassure us that help is coming, instructing us to form lines. In their panicked state, passengers heedlessly jostle and push, adding to the chaos. Lifeboats are lowered, and orders bellowed. In their attempts to give first-class passengers preference, fights break out. Social status and wealth are now immaterial as illusions of grandeur dissolve in panic. Brave young boys and men allow their sisters, wives, mothers, and elderly to use the first lifeboats that row away alarmingly quickly. Passengers hurrying past glance strangely at me writing this letter. Perhaps I am still in denial. Yet I cannot fathom how this perfectly engineered, unsinkable masterpiece can do such a mundane thing as sink. Remember how we excitedly followed the news of its progress over the months in the making, Charles? Something that hadn't been considered was striking an iceberg. I must admit the hysteria, startling explosions, followed by shooting flames and fires breaking out amid the distress horns blaring, are frightening me out of my wits. The gravity of the situation hits home as I watch horrified people jumping into the icy ocean. I read somewhere that in icy conditions, hypothermia sets in about fifteen minutes and death in about thirty. I shudder to imagine the fate of the poor souls in the water. They would be frozen in this cold North Atlantic water quicker than they know. One poor woman has even strapped her child to her waist, suckling at her breast as she jumps. The liner is belching out volumes of black smoke. It is in stress and tilt mode, making it hard to write and even harder to see my writing under the flickering light as I cling to my paper and pen. All the while, the ship is mournfully shuddering, groaning and sinking. People scream as things start to break off and slide towards the ocean. I strap myself in the chair. I watch a man get hit on his head by a monstrous metal pole dead before he even hits the deck, his wife screaming, holding on to him. All this, I watch from my chair the horrific events unfolding. Some passengers cling to each other, others strap themselves to anything anchored, and some hopefuls point to a ship far away, comforting, hoping and praying aloud. Ominous as it sounds, Charles, I know it won't get here in time for the unfortunates in the water. I try not to look at them. All the lifeboats have gone, some only half-filled. I say a prayer that they make it. Charles, you are my rock; a year ago, to the day when Billy passed from a strange and sudden illness, I wished for my own death. It took on your part to pull me out of my own selfish depth of despair. I found myself very slowly, over the months of patience and love from you, gradually adjusting to the fact that life goes on. I wanted to live again. Eager to unshackle chains to the addiction of pain, I slowly emerged as my old self under your care, stronger. You put your own feelings on hold to help me through it all. I have never loved you more than I do now. You convinced me to take this cruise of a lifetime, spending your hard-earned money on a first-class ticket for me, a luxury we could hardly afford. Still, in your unselfish way, you insisted, and as the idea grew on me, I eagerly looked forward to the cruise and meeting up with my sister in New York. After sitting here for nearly two hours, watching, writing, and waiting, I realise that help will not get here in time for us. I should feel gloomy, but I feel an eerie calm prevalent in the air descending. Is it Divine Intervention? I look around at some of the other passengers. They sense it, too. It seems we are all resigning ourselves to our outcome. Que Sera, Sera Looking at my clothes, I realise I am well and truly drenched. My boots soaked right through, yet oddly, I feel warmth like a gentle caress embracing me as the haunting strains of the music 'Nearer my God to Thee' float to my ears. Throughout this whole ordeal, the brave musicians have played their soulful music. One has even strapped his instrument to his chest. I look up at the sky. My God, Charles, I have never seen the stars sparkle so brightly, They seem to be unpicking seams as they burst through the canopy of black velvet folds. What a celestial show they are putting on as they watch us face our miserable outcome, Or is it? Puzzling as it seems, my heart fills with peaceful joy. I don't fear death's cold embrace anymore. Unexpectedly, the warmth of a small hand slips into mine; I feel him before seeing his bright light twirling and spinning, getting larger before my eyes, gaining momentum by the second. Oh, Charles, it is Billy; it is our son. How can it not be? Though lost to mortal sight, believe it, he is here, a manifestation of love. A beacon of Hope with a promise of a sanctuary beyond The love I feel cannot be described. Eagerly, I reach for the metal flask. In it, I will slip this letter to you and toss it in the sea. My love, my complete trust lies in it somehow finding its way to you. From the depths of my heart, thank you for loving me and sending me home, Charles. All my love till we meet again Catherine. Maria Williams ©
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