It was over. Every person swimming in the freezing Atlantic would die tonight. All would be silent within the hour. All voices would cease to be heard. All babies would stay hushed at their mother's sides for the last time. All men's yells would become faint. All of the women's screams would fade into nonexistence. All except six. Six. Six voices, all silent, but all would return eventually, hopefully forever, but the circumstance left no absolution.

The Titanic had sunk, and Rose Dewit-Bukater had gone down with it, along with Jack Dawson, and 1500 other still living souls. Who would be living after this experience and who would be drifting in the land of the unknown was yet to be determined by God himself. A young women lays on a bed board, and a man in the water next to her, the water of the Atlantic closing in on both, but one more quickly than the other, and logic could give a hint as to which one. As the night draws on, as fated by the state of all, the voices silence as planned. One by one, the light of their eyes fade out, as do the spirits of Those in Peril on the Sea. As it would seem, the song sung in church by many passengers at mass in the early hours of the day had a deeper meaning than thought of until this very moment. As the crowd died down, two voices rang out in conversation, until the point when only one voice was heard speaking, or rather singing of better times.

"I love you, Jack." Said the young lady to the young man. Silly girl. Little did she know of her fate, that she would in fact be one of six to prevail, and with her, would be the man she so hungrily held on to, as if he was her lifeline, but blame could not be bound to her, for in fact, in a way, he was her lifeline. And she was his, for he was staring into her eyes with nothing but deep admiration and pure love. Few could go through an experience such as this one and still have the mind to think, as this man said earlier, about anything but the pain. Yet he did, and so did she.

The fact that in such a situation as this one, where the likeness of one's prevailing is as slim as the shore is wet, and that in such a time, one can hang on to the strings of their being and have the strength to want to live past a night such as this one in mid-April, 1912, are two likenesses to ponder indeed, yet somehow, on a board in the middle of the freezing Atlantic, both are being achieved. For the one thing stronger than fear, stronger than pain, is love. Love is such a funny thing, it can come and disappear faster than any element of life, and is far rarer than any precious gem or jewel. To understand love is a concept that is as easily grasped as any, yet is the hardest to come by. So many fall into the deep pit of emotion when it is least appropriate. So many never fall at all. Far too little never even give the power a second glance, for they are still after so many years, trying to pick up the various pieces of the life they lived before this force put their world together, only to tear it apart in more pieces than it had to put together the first time. In the cold darkness, the never ending nightmare that so many swam in tonight, this power was their only link to life, and would continue to be so for the remainder of their impossibly short, sweet nor sour, lives. For in this world, and in the next, there will never be an absolution.

Rose:

I awoke on a moving boat, and how I got to the position I am in at the moment is a blur, the only thought circling my head is Jack. Jack. Whether he is alive of not is at the hands of God, seeing to those souls who had perished in the unforgiving Atlantic. God, all I want is Jack, he can have Cal, my Mother, myself, anyone he wants, except for Jack. As the circumstances would permit, Jack was the most likely dead out of all of the names I would quickly exchange for his return to Earth. I have to know. I need to know. I need Jack, I have yet to ride like a man, drink cheap beer, and ride the roller coaster until I throw up. I can't do any of these things without him. Jack isn't just a person, he's a state of mind. Freedom. Beautiful freedom that comes in the form of mesmerizing blue eyes and striking blonde hair. The scent of old cigarettes and rainwater, and as I could imagine at the moment, saltwater too. What I wouldn't give to hold him once more, to breathe in those cigarettes and that rainwater. To dance to just one more song, to feel his heartbeat through his thin shirt, to hear his voice just one more time, to be with him, and make every moment count from here on out. The gentle rocking of the boat lured me into a deep sleep, where everything was good, and I still had the one thing I hold ever so dear to my heart.

When I awoke again, I found myself in a strange room, and I wouldn't have questioned my position if there were not a roof over my head. Yet somehow, there was, which meant one of two things, either I was dead, or another ship had finally taken pity on us and grabbed us out of the ocean where we had been residing for the past, well, I really don't know how long I was out there. Two days? Two hours? It had felt like two years, but if that were the case, the likelihood of my existence on this Earth after all of that time in the water would be extremely negative. But yet again, the medical equipment on the walls in the room proved that in fact I was very much alive. I didn't know where I was, or what in the world I was doing in this strange room, the only thing I could keep my focus on was the thought that I HAD survived, and because of this I needed to know if Jack had done the same, and God was I so done with people telling me what to do. I have had enough of that in my late childhood to last a lifetime. So when the nurse came and told me after I had gotten up to go and see if there was a passenger list I could view to sit down, I simply pushed her out of the way, because I am most certainly through with being polite. As I made my way farther up the stairs, I looked around. Oh God, the infirmary must have been on the first class level, because the first thing I saw was none other than Caledon Hockley's ugly face. Luckily, I made a quick dive behind a bench and narrowly avoided being seen. After he had passed, I walked over to the third class area, because if Jack was anywhere, he would be over here. Also, people over here weren't near as snotty. As I walked around the boat deck, all that could be heard was the wailing of children, likely mourning over a father, but with them being so far down in the class order, it could have been anyone. Finally I spotted a Carpathia crew member talking to an older woman, who was clamoring about her husband, not that I could ever blame her. Even the thought of losing Jack was enough to make me want to break down. I had to stay strong until I had reached an absolution, if nothing else, some kind of conclusion. I walked up to the man holding the clipboard.

"Sir? Sir I was wondering…" The man looked up from his clipboard and stared hard into my eyes.

"Yes?"

"Is there anyone with the name of Jack Dawson on this ship?"

I do not own Titanic, the movie, or Titanic, the actual ship. I will post more soon!