Disclaimer: I do not own Titanic. If I did, I promise you I would be filthy rich by now.

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When my brother told me he was going to America, I truly was happy for him. I knew he'd been saving his money for months, gathering up the meager salary he received from his low-paying job and what was left of our inheritance. It had been a long time since I'd seen his face so bright, his expression so cheerful. I suppose it was his pure joy, a joy that had I feared had abandoned him, that possessed me to go with him. It was a decision I now sorely regret.

I never believed my future would be found in America. England was my home; it had been for my entire life. London was where I was born, where I'd grown up. Yet I listened to my brother when he explained just what awaited for me, and I believed him.

"Imagine what you could do in America," he'd said to me. "Imagine all the money you could get. We could get!"

Money. That was one of the deciding factors, I now realize, mostly because it was something we had very little of. Our father had left us some money upon his death, it was true, but most of what he left of us was debt and broken promises. The promise of money was a tempting one indeed. My brother assured me that in America we could everything we could ever want, everything we could ever dream of.

And so those were the grounds upon which I agreed to go with him. We purchased our tickets for the Titanic with not one smidgen of doubt. This would change our lives, that we both could tell. Our lives did change, but perhaps differently than we'd anticipated.

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"Claire!" My brother was bubbling over with excitement. In all his twenty-four years I'd never seen him act more like a child. "Claire, look at it!" His gaze was transfixed upon the massive ship. Amidst the bustling crowd, he stood still, staring in awe at its sheer size.

I couldn't help smiling at his happiness. "Oh, David, it's only a ship." Though I appreciated his enthusiasm, I didn't share it.

"Only a ship?" He looked affronted. "This happens to be the biggest ship ever built, I'll have you know."

"David, we have to keep moving. You're welcome to lecture me inside." I may have been the younger sister by five years, but David was compliant. He shuffled forwards with our luggage, every few steps glancing sideways to get another look at Titanic. Indeed, the ship was beautiful in its own way; I couldn't disagree. But for me there was no hopeful sun gleaming over its top; there was only its dark ominous shadow that engulfed the pier.

Around us were hundreds of people. Some were jubilant, waving estatically to their departing friends. Others were sad, exchanging tearful embraces as husbands left wives and fathers left daughters. As for me, I was saying my good-byes in silence. I was parting with the only place I knew as home, perhaps never to return. I took in all I could of this city, though even Southampton was foreign to me. Already I was miles away from anything familiar, and soon there would be an entire ocean between me and England. David was happy about this. He was convinced that in America we would find our fortunes, the riches that had been denied us in this country. He was sure that doors would be opened once we reached New York. All I could feel was a door closing in my face. I saw nothing opening for us. At least not for me.

We passed through the health inspection without a problem. When we boarded the ship David darted off down the crowded corridor to find our room, leaving me murmuring apologies to the people he'd shoved aside. Upon reaching the room I found David already inside, inspecting every inch of it. As it would turn out, we would be staying in a space hardly bigger than a large closet. There was one bed, a bunk bed, and a single wardrobe built into the wall. Opposite the door was a wash basin and above it a small circular mirror. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

"Isn't it fantastic?" David was so delighted I feared he might burst.

"Yes, David, it's wonderful," I agreed, though inside was slightly disappointed. I knew, of course, that what little money we had couldn't have bought much, but I still had hoped for something a bit more glamorous. I unbuttoned my coat and set it down on one of the stiff cots and untied the ribbon securing my hat, which was thrown down on top of my coat. I crossed the room in a few strides and peered out the small porthole. From where we were, practically at the bottom of the ship, I could clearly see the faces of those still on the pier. Children gazed with wide, sparkling eyes at the towering steamship while their mothers flapped tear-soaked handkerchiefs to their departing husbands. I took comfort in the fact that I was leaving no one behind. The person who mattered most in my life was with me on this ship. I smiled at this thought as I turned towards my brother. "Come on. Let's go up on deck."

"What for?" David had already occupied himself with unpacking. I closed the suitcase that rested in front of him and reached for his hand.

"I want to be up there when we leave."

This time it was me racing down the hallway with David in tow. I dashed past countless men with armfuls of luggage, women dragging along fussy toddlers, so many people I thought just the third class would fill up the ship.

The deck was beyond the point of crowded. People were packed close together, so close there was barely room enough to breathe. With my hand still holding David's, I pulled him towards the rail. David possessed the enthusiasm I lacked, and he leaned over the railing to wave at the hundreds of strangers. Just one look at his wild grin brought a smile to my face and I followed his example, reaching up with my hand to wave goodbye to people I never knew, never would know, and never would see again.