“We checked his property. The Hockley family reported it missing upon reaching land. Our last hope was when we found this drawing,” one of the young men says, brandishing a rather revealing drawing, a copy of course, of her friend in front of her. By ‘very revealing’ she means that her friend is wearing the Heart of the Ocean, and only the Heart of the Ocean. Mrs. Appleton averts her eyes to anywhere but the drawing, but even in her haste she can’t help but notice how detailed it is. Every last stoke of the pencil is perfected, like it was drawn by an expert artist.
Funny, she thinks, Marley wasn’t the type to model like that. “That’s why we’re trying to find it, you see. Just imagine how much it would be worth now…”
“I’m afraid I’m no help in that aspect.”
“Nevertheless, you are the last survivor. You must have a story of your own,” the same man says with a pleasant smile.
“Don’t we all?” the old woman sighs. For a moment, it’s as if she’s not going to say more, but her withered mouth turns up to a smile, and she begins the story of Titanic. The story that’s never been told before, never been uttered by a single mouth until today, but a true and magnificent story nonetheless.
The story that did not begin on a large dock in Liverpool, England, but rather, on a hot, summer’s day in Miami Florida, on a small suburban street called ‘Dreams.’
P.S. Special Thanks to Firedancer8 who persuaded me to post this. :-)