The Explorer's Apprentice

63:Curing The Disease

I do not own these lovely folks, just Marley's memories.:)

Marley Faulkner

“Hold the left side! Right side only! Right side only!!” 

Forty feminine screams erupt through the chilling night as two lifeboats are lowered, the second one too terribly uneven.  It’s left side points down while its right partner sticks straight up towards the stars.

“Lower it together! Lower it!” Guards in thick, matching suits stand straight and tall, demonstrating orders with their bodies,  like soldiers.

It's funny really, she thinks, the thought hitting her suddenly. Without warning. While Titanic is grand, radiating glamorous pride and colossal elegance, the little boat is small, looked at as unimpressive and terribly insignificant.

But it's the lifeboat that was made to save us all.

So many different sounds—the piecing yelps of those being lowered into the ocean, the excited giggles of those who are about to be, and the constant buzzing of the orchestra beside her— are fighting for space in Marley’s ears, making it difficult to focus on anything.

And in the end, Titanic will fall.

 Ahead of Marley a single firework is released, shooting for the sky and then dissolving into tiny sprinkles less than a mile up. Marley can’t help but think of Independence Day on her back patio in Seattle. Her mother had always been the adventurous type, and had gone out and bought fireworks for she, Marley, and P.J. to try out. P.J. picked a firecracker called ‘Garden angels,’ and it cascaded up to the stars like little drops of silver dew. Marley chose one shaped like a dinosaur, and their mother’s was white and cloudy, filling up the sky with smoke. Marley can’t remember what it was called.

I never got to say goodbye….

12:57, and the head of the boat is almost completely under.

As the next lifeboat begins accepting more passengers, strictly only to women and children, Marley can feel herself being thrust forward. Beside her several others, young and old, all dressed finely with bright red noses, cheeks, and ears, seem to collide. It's hard to tell one person's end from another's start. Marley can hear the cries of wives torn away from husbands, of babies ripped from the arms of fathers. She can hear the wails of helpless children, being told over and over again that it’s going to be alright. Don't worry, they say, don't cry, please don't cry, it'll all be over soon.

Don't cry

don't cry

don't cry. Everything will be okay.

But she can see doubt it in their eyes--large, shimmering pools of uncertainty that all seem to say will it? Will it really? They don't know what to believe.

“Is there any room for a gentleman, gentlemen?” Cal says, elbowing a ship guard.

 The man hardly even acknowledges Cal as he helps a grieving young woman into a tight space on board. “Only the women and children at this time, sir,” he mutters.  The stupid excuse for a smile that Cal’s modeling is enough to make even the vilest of creatures—like ravenous monsters of  the deep—keel over and die. Marley is sure of it.

“Will the lifeboats be sorted according to class?” Shouts Ruth to Marley’s left. Nobody but one bothers acknowledging her in the chaos, and her stuffy voice seems to dissolve in midair. “I hope they’re not too crowded,” she says giggling, turning back to Marley and Cal.