1. Olympic

I'm only twenty-four. I'm so far too young to die. I haven't married, I haven't been courted, I haven't seen Japan…I'm trying to think of all the things I haven't done but I'm far to flustered to think of them all. The list is too long and all I can think about is the terrible grinding noise, like some wild animal is dying. Constance and I stare at each other with wide eyes, thinking the same thing – are we going down? Are we going to die a watery death? Drown in the ocean, still so close to land?

Most importantly, will I ever see my mum again?

Mum wasn't ever in a sinking ship – she never drowned – so many years at sea – and now I've only been a stewardess a few years, and now I'm about to sink down into the icy depths and perish and I'll never see my mum again or my brothers and sister! This is just irresponsible of whoever is in charge at the moment.

Finally, the horrible – ear piercing, spine grating – noise twists down to a halt. Constance and I wait hardly a moment before leaping out of our beds and running to the upper deck.

Everyone is milling around. We clutch each other in the frigid night air – it would never be this cold in Argentina, I think, then realize I am mulling over inconsequential things – then the crowd separates us and I am alone in an ocean of people.

I make a quick assessment, the way any good seafaring person would do, and come to the terribly relieving conclusion that we will not be sinking. Still, fear is in the air, and I'm not sure: who could be sure in this situation? My feet are cold, I think again, absentmindedly, and search for a familiar face in the crowd, or someone official-looking who will give me some sort of direction. But it is ever so cold for a September night and I can't seem to be able to walk straight; the deck sways around like a drunkard and my feet are ever so cold. Frankly, I am still afraid of being pushed off the deck and falling to my death in the icy water below.

I am terrified, yet it is hilarious, really. I tried ever so hard to get on this damned ship back on land. They wouldn't accept my application – I was too pretty and too young and they were afraid of complications that might get in the way of work – so I made myself ugly to get on board. I can only grasp at strands of the irony of this situation, for my fear clouds my mind, yet the humor is still there and I can practically feel the dowdy, scratchy brown threads I donned to get this job on this death contraption.

I hug my arms around myself and move with the crowd. I go around and around in frantic circles until I reach the railing and then I stop, grabbing on to the cold metal and staring out at the damage.

The other ship is mangled. I can't see the side of our ship but we rock and sway in the water. Thank goodness we aren't far from Wales or we might never get back to shore, not with damage such as I suspect we have retained from what I suspect was a collision with the other ship – the HMS Hawke: I can see her name now, beaten up as she is.

I wonder if anyone has died. I wonder if anyone will die, and if it will be me, and I wonder if I will ever see my mum again.

A/N: So, you like, I hope? :P

So for anyone who's interested, Violet Jessop was a stewardess on the Olympic, Titanic, and Britannic when all three ships went down. She survived all three wrecks, and went on to do more stewardessing (if that's how you spell it). Take a look-see at http: // www. titanic -whitestarships .com /MGY _Jessop .htm (sans spaces) or just do a google search. :D