I Was Supposed to Be Unsinkable
April 1912 - Southampton
I am bold. I am vast. I am the most wondrous ship that has ever been built. I sit here, in port at Southampton, ready to embark on my maiden voyage across the Atlantic Ocean, ready to prove that the things I have heard my builders say are true. I am unsinkable. Well, they said practically unsinkable, but they know in their hearts the truth. I know I am unsinkable, for I was built with strong metal, and have many fail safes to prevent any possible disaster that could occur while I sail. In my dining halls is fine china, branded with the White Star name, ready to serve some of the richest and most powerful people of our time. Chefs and sailors and maids scramble about my decks and through my many passageways, making sure every last thing is taken care of. I am ready for our next stops in Cherbourg, France, and Queenstown, Ireland, for after all the passengers are on board, we will set out for America, and when we reach its shores, I will have proven to everyone that the Titanic is the mightiest ship in the world .
April 11 - Queenstown
Over 2,000 men, women, and children now wander through me. I see them, feel them, and hear them all. In First Class the sirs and ladies and people of high society laugh and smoke and lounge. They wear fine suits and lavish gowns and they understand my power, because they hold the same power in society. That is why they live in luxury as I push on through the freezing water. They enjoy my gymnasium and freshwater swimming pool, and glory in the fact that they are able to be on my maiden voyage, an event so spectacular that it will surely go down in history.
April 12 - The Open Sea
In Second Class, my guests, though not the most important people, live well and happily. A brother and sister play tag on my deck, the breeze hitting their faces, the air fresh and cool. My giant propellers and my powerful steam engines push us on through the sea, and I know that my speed will bring us to New York City quickly. In Third Class, my poorest passengers talk and have the time of their lives, because they too know how lucky they are to be traveling on the mighty Titanic.
Over the wireless, I hear the reports about dangerous iceberg—filled waters ahead. I know that Captain Smith is steering us safely south of any ice fields – not that it would matter. I was built to take on the world. What could one piece of ice do when facing me?
April 13
I am content. The calm weather makes sailing simple, and I am doing what I was made to do. When we dock, there will be reporters taking pictures of the triumphant and majestic ship that carried people across the world as if they were still on dry land. Passengers continue to walk along my gleaming decks. They are eager to meet loved ones, or to begin new lives in America, the land of opportunity. I will miss their stories, and the way they fill me up and make me whole. But I know that after they disembark, I will take many more journeys across the world's waters, giving stunned passengers the ride of their lives, and a memory they will never forget.
April 14 – April 15
It is night. Everything is quiet, away from the pollution of cities and the endless movement of people in them.
Suddenly from my crow's nest I hear a frantic shout.
"Iceberg right ahead!"
The same voice yells again: "Hard a' starboard!"
I am turning as quickly as I can, but am helpless as my hull suddenly meets with sharp and tearing ice. The gouge through my side brings sharp, harsh pain as I move past the iceberg and grind to a halt in the black night.
My watertight compartments fill quicker than I ever dreamed they could, weighing me down. The cold water of the Atlantic is invading me, spilling through my corridors and flooding me. This is not right. This should not be happening. I was designed to be the greatest luxury liner there ever was. This cannot be the end.
Some passengers – specifically those in first class – realize something is wrong. They hurriedly put on furs and life jackets as they are told by my officers to prepare to board my lifeboats. I am slowly dying, and all I can do is try to stay afloat as my passengers escape. I can try to give them this chance to live, even as I am falling.
What's this? Captain Smith thinks I only have two hours left? Well, if he is correct, he is right to begin the evacuation. He is sending the women and children away first. And in my radio room, I feel faintly the taps that the man makes on his machine, trying to bring help to me, the broken vessel. But something in me knows, realizes that help will not come in time. Tonight, I will die, and too many will die with me. By the time help arrives, the night and the sea will have swallowed us up.
Passengers panic as my decks start to tilt. There is so much confusion everywhere! What are they doing, still sleeping? Why are so many in the third-class unaware of what is happening? And what do they think they are doing, launching my lifeboats without filling them first? If the great Titanic should perish, she would save as many people from the carnage as she could.
And through the pain, through the screams and the tears and the panic, I hear music. The band is still playing.
My bow sinks and I am half-drowning. I see the lifeboats making their escape as my lights flicker out. The ocean is dark and the air has both silence and screams. I am tilting far too much. People slide down my decks, hitting parts of me. So many are trapped, as helpless to escape the icy waters as I am. This is not how things should be. The water should not be in me, through me, killing me. But it is.
And then the pain reaches its peak. I am ripping in two. At once, I am both sinking with my forward section to the depths of the ocean, and pointing straight into the sky with my stern, a final goodbye to a world I was destined to rule.
And the water rushes to meet me and my remaining passengers, quick and cold and irrevocable. We sink in the darkness and the quiet is impenetrable.
Eventually I come to rest at the ocean's floor – both parts of me. Furniture, luggage, mail, my grand staircase… all rest in the silence with me. As I slowly fade away, my last thought is a broken truth that I once believed in.
I was supposed to be unsinkable.