A/N This was for a Language Arts assignment. We were to give Jonas a memory so I chose on of the TITANIC. This also takes place BEFORE we realise that Gabriel can also receive the memories. It does take place AFTER the first memory Gabriel received yet Jonas wasn't quite sure what had happened.
Jonas shuffled into the Annex room, feeling slightly annoyed and discouraged. He had tried to show Asher color again, failing miserably in the process. He still wasn't quite accustomed to the idea that he and The Giver were the only ones to share the pains and trials of the past. Granted, it was much more interesting knowing what it was like, but with each memory he received, be it one of sheer joy or excruciating sadness, it only rowed the boat he sailed in closer to the island of solitary confinement. And loneliness wasn't a good emotion; it would only heighten when all the memories became his and only his. He was temporarily soothed with the absurd thought that he might not be alone, though. His mind was still hopelessly stuck on the peculiar event that had happened with Gabriel.
He assessed The Giver's expression with a visible confusion in his young eyes, already wary of the day's memory that was going to be received. The Giver looked…not happy or sad, not angry or worried, not older or younger…but concentrated, wiser somehow. This was the expression that told Jonas he was going to receive a memory today, one that would lift a big weight off of The Giver's burdened shoulders, but one that Jonas would think about, dream about, and compare to other experiences in his own life.
The Giver nodded his head in acknowledgment of Jonas's presence, never looking up at him. Suddenly he spoke. "Eleven years of age, still innocent, yet not as impressionable. Smarter, able to know something is wrong, but not of age to understand it yet." He stared off into space with those pale, sky blue eyes of his. Deep thought was radiating off of his body.
It struck Jonas as odd that The Giver had said "eleven years of age." Jonas knew what it meant from past memories he had received; yet the expression was never used in his presence. You were an eleven, not eleven years old.
Nonetheless, he removed his tunic and lay on his stomach on the bed. He knew by now not to question The Giver when he was in a "mood" such as this. He felt the hands touch his bare back and became lost in another memory, not recalling when The Giver had moved over to the bed.
•••
His hand was clasped tightly in the hand of another, this came quite clear. Although, he knew, since his small hand (an obvious indicator that this was a memory of a smaller boy than he) was in that of a female adult's, it should feel warm. It did not. It felt cold, much like the snow did when he received the sled memory. It also felt clammy.
As he peered around her dirty, long dress with its full skirts, he sensed utter chaos and much confusion. People were running about, shouting at each other in incomprehensible phrases. The words foreign language came into his mind.
As his young eyes darted around with a morbid curiosity, he examined the way these unsightly people were dressed. They all had on heavy clothing. The females of all ages and races and nationalities donned heavy coats, dresses, stockings, and the shoes that buckled were much too small for them. The men had on pajamas still (as the majority of this bustling crowd did) and some did not even wear shoes. All of the people were dirty, he realized, including himself. He was also very tired. He had the feeling that he was rudely aroused from a sound sleep sometime earlier.
He gazed at the woman as she remained squeezing his hand for all she was worth. She was dirty, like the others, and her eyes darted around in a manner very unfamiliar to Jonas. Worry. As she saw him gazing up at her, she smiled down at him with her big, brown eyes that were filled with a deep pool of sentimental emotions.
"It'll be all right, Patrick," she whispered with a heavy British accent that seemingly dripped with a hidden meaning. There was a distrust that Jonas had for that statement. Jonas couldn't quite figure out if she was lying, or merely hiding something. He did decide to trust her and allowed himself to believe that everything truly was all right. "We are safe. God will ensure this," she continued.
As she said this, another word came across his mind as he examined the hallway he was in. Religion. He instantly knew what it was. He then noted people were chanting something. "Our Father who art in Heaven…" Prayer.
He noted that the floor he was standing on was wooden. He saw a rat scurry across the floor as a man followed it. The grimy and unshaven man muttered something about that if the rats were going that way, it must be dry. A group of horridly dressed men soon followed, bounding to catch up.
The walls were white and bolted together. As he stood stationary with the woman, he observed the rocking motion of the boat and the curious sounds and clanks and bangs coming from behind the dirty white walls. The rock was like the sailboat, but much more violent. He perceived the word ship. It unsettled him that there should be a hum of an engine accompanying this ship, but no hum was to be heard by his small ears.
He thought he heard a whooshing sound somewhere in the distance, and with that, more screams. He quickly disregarded it when he saw a man in the narrow hallway. The man didn't belong with this unfortunately dressed mob of civilians.
He was dressed in a sterile white outfit and was incessantly running down the hallway, screaming unintelligible words to the larger groups of people.
Perhaps the most curious aspect of this frantic man was his appearance. The bourgeois outfit he wore was perfectly starched clean, and it buttoned down the front. Something told Jonas that the two rows of buttons on the front of his shirt did not intend to show a sign that this man had come of age to be independent. Jonas was curious to know why this man wasn't wearing the steerage garb that everyone here seemed accustomed to. The man was also cleanly shaven, a magnificent contrast to the other men that swarmed roughly around him like bees.
Jonas' attention was diverted from the man when he decided to see what the hallway to the left had to offer for his sightseeing.
An insanely large crowd had gathered (almost like a church service) around a black gate that fastened in the middle. Jonas was confused why the masses had become fixated on this gate. Even the adult female that had called him Patrick had her eyes locked on it. There was nothing special about this gate. It was black with a design that wasn't very intricate and it reached all the way up to the ceiling.
Another man that was dressed in the queer white outfit was above the crowd. He was on the other side of the gate. It took Jonas a moment to realize that there were steps leading up the gate. (Not that he could see them under all of the men, women, and children.) The frazzled man was uselessly shouting angrily at the ever-gathering crowd as he tried to unsuccessfully calm them.
Jonas tried to concentrate on all the activity that relentlessly and ceaselessly pulled his attention in all different directions. This was not going too well because all of the emotions were too antagonizing for him to try and take in all at once. His thought process was swimming a mile a minute as new thoughts surfed by every second, leaving him drowning within himself.
He finally settled back on the crowd, where his eyes meticulously observed each and every little detail it had to offer. An unidentifiable man (since the backs of people's heads were all that Jonas was allowed to see) shouted from somewhere in the crowd.
"We are not dogs! You cannot keep us in cages as such!" A horrible flood of emotions poured over Jonas as he became aware of how badly Patrick had been treated his whole life. His mind became a jigsaw puzzle as he pondered over why anyone would treat a child so inhumanely just because of the amount of money he had. Jonas couldn't grasp the concept of it, so he decided to scrutinize the crowd some more.
The man continued. "There are women and children down here-!"
The man was unable to finish his sentence before he was silenced by a loud BANG. The terribly ironic thing was that in all the memories Jonas received about loud noises, they usually shattered the silence. This loud noise made everything eerily quiet.
Jonas couldn't hook and grasp what had actually happened because his attention was yet again diverted to another subject. He felt the presence of somebody standing directly in front of him.
He whirled his head around to face the peculiar man in white who he had seen frantically running in the hall just moments before. The man was completely un-phased by the BANG sound, but the other steerage passengers were in a chaotic uproar about it.
As much as Jonas felt the desire to turn around just once to see what had become of the man who dared to speak his mind, something about the man in white's urgent demeanor demanded Jonas' full attention. This meant that Jonas had only the shouts of the throng of people behind him to determine what had happened.
Upon further inspection, Jonas saw that the man in front of him held a look of pure agonizing terror on his young face. His blood shot sea-green eyes (an epiphany, perhaps?) bulged as he yelled at the female adult to get a lifebelt on immediately. Upon performing that task, she was to make her way to the main deck in complete haste. Jonas made the connection of lifebelt to the word sink. This was when Jonas first felt the pang of terror and the sense of danger that momentarily over whelmed him.
The man in white eyed Jonas as he yelled almost unintelligibly. "And please, Alexandra. Do all that is in your power to save the young lad." He pleaded the adult female, Alexandra, with his eyes before disappearing into the hall as quickly as he appeared. He was a steward.
The whooshing sound that Jonas had shoved to the back of his mind became much more apparent all of a sudden. He could smell the salty smell of the ocean and it was very similar to the smell of the blue water that that suspended the sailboat in the distant memories.
The scene changed so abruptly, then. It went from entirely chaotic to unbearably tumultuous. In an instant, everything flashed before Jonas as his ears rang from the loud sounds. He couldn't escape from them. Before he could reach to put his free hand to his ear in a feeble attempt to block the noise, something terrifying happened.
The rusted white wall in front of him volleyed forward, sending a torrent of sea and metal hurling towards his un-guarded face. As he flew backwards into the black abyss of the perpetually rising waters, his mind went dark, as did the lights of this once great ship.
•••
Jonas was startled awake with very alarmed feelings. He gasped as he realized he was safe now. He rolled over onto his back and faced The Giver, staring him directly in the eye.
"What happened?" was all Jonas could manage to splutter.
"The Titanic, Jonas. It was a large vessel designed to carry passengers across the Atlantic Ocean. It was the biggest and most luxurious of its time. There were some extreme flaws in the design of the ship. They usually go un-mentioned, though. The universal story is after it hit an iceberg, it sank. The iceberg was hardly the reason though, Jonas. Many things went terribly wrong that night."
Jonas was astounded. "Giver, who was Patrick."
"Patrick was a boy, Jonas. He was eleven. He never had a chance…"
The Giver trailed off. Jonas decided that it was time for him to leave. Without another word, he placed his tunic back on and headed for the door.
"Giver?" Jonas turned around, his lower lip pouting out slightly.
"Yes Jonas?" The Giver questioned with a slight surprise in his voice.
"It wasn't luxurious," Jonas stated matter-of-factly.
"No. Not for the steerage it wasn't."
"That's all."
"Good day, Jonas."
Jonas left the Annex room with a lot on his mind. His thoughts kept turning back to a little boy that he spotted just before the wall collapsed. The boy reminded him of Gabriel. An epiphany perhaps?