Prompt: The orchestra on the Titanic famously kept playing as the ship went down. Describe the sinking of the Titanic from the point of view of the musicians playing in the ballroom - from the interactions to the sights, sounds, and sensations they experience as the ship sinks.
There are two ways to live life.
Either be the leaf on the stream, carried by life wherever it goes, or be the rock that stoutly withstands every wave and crash. Be those desperate souls scrambling for the staircase or the stout gentlemen sitting with a brandy in hand.
The ornate, gold grandfather clock states that it is now 12:25. Less than half an hour ago the Captain ordered evacuation of women and children. How strange to see the flood of humanity surge while this timepiece stands its ground. Still dutifully reporting its time as though a fancy dress ball was still going on in its midst.
There are not enough lifeboats. Of course there aren't. But how could that be? Titanic is unsinkable.
Only hours ago lilting music floated in these halls. Ladies in their fancy dresses swept down the floor with their partners. The same white gloved waiters that were offering wine and champagne are now offering life jackets. One is even doing it with the same courtesy as though merely tempting his guest with an amuse bouche.
And the guests.
A screaming young lady. Maybe 18, 19 at most. Still in her night gown of delicate pink silk and lace. Her father's dinner jacket wrapped hastily around her. Hysterical and clinging onto the older man that leads her through the crowds. She is wearing a life jacket. He is not. He assures her, face smooth and voice calm as they pass by.
"It's just a momentary parting, my dear. The Titanic will be fine. I'll simply meet you in the morning."
He's lying, but she can't see that. They hurry up the grand staircase.
One shuddering breath. One moment of consideration. Run for the stairs? Abandon the violin. Take that last life jacket in the server's arms. Get on deck and into a lifeboat.
Horrified screams and screeching. The sound of running water.
Water now streams down the grand stairs. Flowing as though they were dancers hired for the night's entertainment.
Go down like gentlemen. Go with dignity.
The music strikes up again. It's hard to say who started it. Fingers that never betrayed the tremble of their owners. Music as cheerful as the passengers are panicked.
It gets harder to remain standing. The boat is tipping. The end is approaching.
Crash and shatter. Dishes and cutlery fly against walls and floors. Chairs and tables screech, desperate to cling to their positions, and fail. They start to slide.
Knees bent. Leaning against pillars. Anything to keep standing. Keep playing.
Lower class passengers. Their clothes belying their station on the ship. Wading through cold, knee deep water up the stairs.
A young father hitches his younger son over his shoulders. Tries to pull his white faced and terrified wife up the stairs. They are all soaked. Must have come from somewhere else.
Water soaking pant legs. Stabbing, like millions of needles. A bone deep chill.
The lovingly crafted, glittering chandeliers overhead flicker, then give out. Total darkness.
A halt in the music and chaos and panic surges in the darkened room. Water coming to the chest, now. Still the constant rush of more icy stream pouring in.
"It's been a pleasure, gentlemen."
An almighty creak, then bone shattering crunch of metal tearing.
Water overhead. The violin pulled away.
Silence at last.
The ornate, gold grandfather clock states that it is now 12:25. Less than half an hour ago the Captain ordered evacuation of women and children. How strange to see the flood of humanity surge while this timepiece stands its ground. Still dutifully reporting its time as though a fancy dress ball was still going on in its midst.
There are not enough lifeboats. Of course there aren't. But how could that be? Titanic is unsinkable.
Only hours ago lilting music floated in these halls. Ladies in their fancy dresses swept down the floor with their partners. The same white gloved waiters that were offering wine and champagne are now offering life jackets. One is even doing it with the same courtesy as though merely tempting his guest with an amuse bouche.
And the guests.
A screaming young lady. Maybe 18, 19 at most. Still in her night gown of delicate pink silk and lace. Her father's dinner jacket wrapped hastily around her. Hysterical and clinging onto the older man that leads her through the crowds. She is wearing a life jacket. He is not. He assures her, face smooth and voice calm as they pass by.
"It's just a momentary parting, my dear. The Titanic will be fine. I'll simply meet you in the morning."
He's lying, but she can't see that. They hurry up the grand staircase.
One shuddering breath. One moment of consideration. Run for the stairs? Abandon the violin. Take that last life jacket in the server's arms. Get on deck and into a lifeboat.
Horrified screams and screeching. The sound of running water.
Water now streams down the grand stairs. Flowing as though they were dancers hired for the night's entertainment.
Go down like gentlemen. Go with dignity.
The music strikes up again. It's hard to say who started it. Fingers that never betrayed the tremble of their owners. Music as cheerful as the passengers are panicked.
It gets harder to remain standing. The boat is tipping. The end is approaching.
Crash and shatter. Dishes and cutlery fly against walls and floors. Chairs and tables screech, desperate to cling to their positions, and fail. They start to slide.
Knees bent. Leaning against pillars. Anything to keep standing. Keep playing.
Lower class passengers. Their clothes belying their station on the ship. Wading through cold, knee deep water up the stairs.
A young father hitches his younger son over his shoulders. Tries to pull his white faced and terrified wife up the stairs. They are all soaked. Must have come from somewhere else.
Water soaking pant legs. Stabbing, like millions of needles. A bone deep chill.
The lovingly crafted, glittering chandeliers overhead flicker, then give out. Total darkness.
A halt in the music and chaos and panic surges in the darkened room. Water coming to the chest, now. Still the constant rush of more icy stream pouring in.
"It's been a pleasure, gentlemen."
An almighty creak, then bone shattering crunch of metal tearing.
Water overhead. The violin pulled away.
Silence at last.
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