Hi, so I watched Titanic recently, cos I looooooove that film, and after watching the ending I noticed how Jack stands staring at the clock at the top of the grand stair case and thought about how he spent some moments there in the afterlife before Rose joined him. So... this is what came out. If it's terrible I am sorry, I'm not amazing at writing but I try my best. :)
Waiting.
He waits for her.
He leans his lower back against the polished and smooth wood of the staircase, both hands shoved deeply within the pockets of his wheat coloured trousers, tips of his fingers stroking against the smooth surface, the pads falling into the small open holes the weaves of thread, worn away over the years he's owned the pair, had left.
On the odd occasion too he will slip one hand out, mostly his left, and brush his calloused fingers against the banister, remembering vividly how mesmerised he felt by the beauty of this grand room, entrapped within its divine beauty.
Every etch of elegance within the grand clock he now gazed into with his cerulean eyes brought a tiny smile tugging at each corner of his lips as he reminisced about the events of the evening; his and Rose's first kiss as she glided like an angel over the Atlantic at the front of the unsinkable ship; the night he drew her wearing nothing but the blue Heart of the Ocean, and the night they had made love passionately racing through his thoughts like a runaway train. He analyses how vividly they raced, crossing and cutting through all of his thoughts.
He remembers everything as if it were yesterday, despite that it had actually happened eighty four years ago.
He also remembers it as the night it happened. The sinking.
Their happiness, that perfect night had been ruined all because of that one iceberg and the failure to act quickly and efficiently.
That had caused the death of so many lives. Of Titanic.
Of him.
His and Rose's future. All swept away by the hands of fate. Destiny.
Or was it simply bad luck that he perished in the freezing cold of the Atlantic? He shivers involuntarily at the memory of how the water felt against his skin. A thousand knives stabbing all over his body preventing him from breathing deeply and thinking coherently.
He wanted badly to breathe now, but what was the point? He was dead; there was no need.
Damn it, he had been torn from a happy future when he had found love and had then been encased in the cocoon, no, oblivion that is death!
He shook his head solemnly, tearing his eyes away from the clock that he had gazed intensely at ever since he arrived, eyes following the clocks hands at each tick, knowing that with each passing moment he was being brought closer to his Rose.
Not that he would ever dare wish for her death to imminently hit her. He told her that she would go on, find someone else to take his place – fill the empty hole that was in her heart, even if only temporarily – marry and have many children and watch them grow, do everything that she wanted – now that she was free of the chains of her wealthy background and their rules and decisions – and finally die an old lady who was warm in her bed. He wanted her to live.
It just hurt to be away from her every bloody moment he spent in the afterlife.
So slowly he breathed in, wishing it was her fiery red curls crushing gently against his face and tickling his nose. He'd wait to feel that feeling once more, to smell the sweet scent of roses once more and think of their purity, just like her soul and everything good about her.
Breathing out a sigh, he dug his left hand back inside his pocket and resumed his fidgeting and gazed once more at the clock, counting the seconds as they passed by.
From the bottom of the staircase Thomas Andrews gazed solemnly at the boy standing at the top, ignorant of anyone else who walked by and oblivious to anything around him.
He knew the boys resilience, even in the short time that he knew him on board before their fateful collision, and that he wouldn't move. He had always been perceptive and had the ability to read people very quickly. And after all there was no need for anything once you were dead. No need for nourishment or anything else, just waiting for those you have left behind.
Andrews sighed. Jack and the Titanic would not move on until their final passenger climbed aboard.
The grand ships designer sighed again, shaking his head sadly as he slowly turned on his heel, linked his hands behind his back and left the young man standing alone at the grand staircase to continue gazing thoughtfully at the elegant clock.
He knew Jack would wait.
And so Jack Dawson stands alone and stares at the clock, awaiting the day he and his sweet Rose will be reunited again.
He waits for her.
I imagine it was terrible right? Love it, hate it? Let me know what you think please. :)