Royal Flush
TITLE: Ace of Spades
AUTHOR: BlackRose89
RATING: PG-13 for some language use as well as a few adult situations.
DISCLAIMER: All characters and references to the movie, Titanic, belong to
James Cameron. All original characters and plot belong to BlackRose89. In
no way am I affiliated with James Cameron, or the movie Titanic, and I am
not making any money from this. This goes for all chapters.
SUMMARY: Sixteen-year-old Juniper O'Reilly has always dreamed of a bigger,
better place then her small, two-room house in Cork, Ireland that she
shares with her mother and sister. She has always wanted to travel, and
make a name for herself, she has always wanted to be one of the luxurious
rich and famous, and when she gets the chance of a lifetime, to sail to
America, aboard one of the grandest ships ever made, the R.M.S Titanic, she
jumps on it. But will her life-long dream end in disaster?
AUTHORS NOTE: This is my first Titanic fan fiction, and since I'm not
really all that great at writing sequels, I decided to just make up my own
characters. I greatly appreciate reviews, and constructive critisicm is
awesome! Flames are not appreciated, although I will accept them because
everyone is entitled to there opinion. I would also appreciate it if you
read and reviewed my other work on this site, as well as my work on fiction
press (penname: BlackenedRoses89) and now, onto the story!
*~~~*
Pa always said that life was like a good game of Poker. You never knew what hand you were going to be dealt until the dealer handed it out to you. And then you had to work with what you got. You gambled on what you may or may not have; all the while pretending you did have something if you didn't. You could discard some cards only to be dealt more in hopes of getting better ones, while others you could not discard. Even after you were dealt different ones, there was a chance those cards could be just as bad or worse. Sometimes it was better. And if you had some skill and a lot of luck, you could end up winning more then you ever had. Just as easily, though, you could lose all you're life earnings and then some, and there was always the chance of breaking even. Even though my Pa dropped out of school when he was eleven, he was an intelligent man, knew a lot of stuff most learned folks never even thought about. He didn't need any books; his learning came from life experience. And I tend to think that's all you need, although Ma used to force me to go to school until Pa died. I think he's right about poker, too.
I shuffled the worn deck in my hands, my Pa's lucky deck. My Ma gave it to me after he died; I expect she knew it gave me a sense of comfort. We'd play poker almost every night, after supper and before bedtime prayers. Sometimes he let me stay up late on Friday nights and we played late into the night. We didn't bet money, of course, but it taught me logic just the same.
I lay out on the porch swing, head resting on the cushioned seat and stared up at the stars, my fingers still playing with the cards subconsciously. The sky is so vast, with all those tiny little stars. Billions of them, I expect. It's such an inky black, like the color of the ink in my inkwell at school, and the stars punch holes in it, attempting humbly to bring light upon the darkness. Pa often said that the sky is like the world, so huge and amazing, uncomprehendingly so, and the tiny little stars were al the people, shining and twinkling, in an often-vain attempt to be known, to be different. I believed this as well, and I was no different. I wanted to get out of this place; there was no doubt about it. There was too much sadness, to much grief all around us, to much poverty. I often heard people talking about places that weren't like this, places like America. They say the streets there are paved with gold. I wonder if that's true. It sounds so amazing! I'm sure I could be someone special, be important in this world, if only I could escape my humble little abode, it's all I've ever known. And though I do love the rolling green hills and the endless stretch of forests, all a lush green, dotted with cottages and small shacks, with a cool, blue river gurgling and giggling as it meanders through the forest, I want to see other places, with new scenery, and meet new people. I will miss it dearly, when I go, if I go.
My Pa used to sit out here with me at nights. We didn't speak much; we didn't feel the need to, that's the difference between my Ma and my Pa. It's lonely here without him, because in a strange way I felt that he was my soul mate. Not romantically, of course, God that would be strange, but more in heart, mind, and soul. We thought the same kind of thoughts, acted the same way, pulled the same dreadful string of Cockney that drove my mother into insanity, and carried ourselves in a peaceful, dignified manner. I lost one of my best friends, and I feel the constant need to fill this lonesome void where my father, my best friend, once was.
My Pa used to say that I was special; I'd amount to something. I was an extraordinary kid meant to do extraordinary things, like a Royal Flush. For my own sake, I really do hope he's right about this, too.
*~~~*
Pa always said that life was like a good game of Poker. You never knew what hand you were going to be dealt until the dealer handed it out to you. And then you had to work with what you got. You gambled on what you may or may not have; all the while pretending you did have something if you didn't. You could discard some cards only to be dealt more in hopes of getting better ones, while others you could not discard. Even after you were dealt different ones, there was a chance those cards could be just as bad or worse. Sometimes it was better. And if you had some skill and a lot of luck, you could end up winning more then you ever had. Just as easily, though, you could lose all you're life earnings and then some, and there was always the chance of breaking even. Even though my Pa dropped out of school when he was eleven, he was an intelligent man, knew a lot of stuff most learned folks never even thought about. He didn't need any books; his learning came from life experience. And I tend to think that's all you need, although Ma used to force me to go to school until Pa died. I think he's right about poker, too.
I shuffled the worn deck in my hands, my Pa's lucky deck. My Ma gave it to me after he died; I expect she knew it gave me a sense of comfort. We'd play poker almost every night, after supper and before bedtime prayers. Sometimes he let me stay up late on Friday nights and we played late into the night. We didn't bet money, of course, but it taught me logic just the same.
I lay out on the porch swing, head resting on the cushioned seat and stared up at the stars, my fingers still playing with the cards subconsciously. The sky is so vast, with all those tiny little stars. Billions of them, I expect. It's such an inky black, like the color of the ink in my inkwell at school, and the stars punch holes in it, attempting humbly to bring light upon the darkness. Pa often said that the sky is like the world, so huge and amazing, uncomprehendingly so, and the tiny little stars were al the people, shining and twinkling, in an often-vain attempt to be known, to be different. I believed this as well, and I was no different. I wanted to get out of this place; there was no doubt about it. There was too much sadness, to much grief all around us, to much poverty. I often heard people talking about places that weren't like this, places like America. They say the streets there are paved with gold. I wonder if that's true. It sounds so amazing! I'm sure I could be someone special, be important in this world, if only I could escape my humble little abode, it's all I've ever known. And though I do love the rolling green hills and the endless stretch of forests, all a lush green, dotted with cottages and small shacks, with a cool, blue river gurgling and giggling as it meanders through the forest, I want to see other places, with new scenery, and meet new people. I will miss it dearly, when I go, if I go.
My Pa used to sit out here with me at nights. We didn't speak much; we didn't feel the need to, that's the difference between my Ma and my Pa. It's lonely here without him, because in a strange way I felt that he was my soul mate. Not romantically, of course, God that would be strange, but more in heart, mind, and soul. We thought the same kind of thoughts, acted the same way, pulled the same dreadful string of Cockney that drove my mother into insanity, and carried ourselves in a peaceful, dignified manner. I lost one of my best friends, and I feel the constant need to fill this lonesome void where my father, my best friend, once was.
My Pa used to say that I was special; I'd amount to something. I was an extraordinary kid meant to do extraordinary things, like a Royal Flush. For my own sake, I really do hope he's right about this, too.