Each year the anniversary of the Titanic sinking hits and I’m not quite sure how to commemorate it, at least on my blog. (In real life, I usually wind up watching a slew of Titanic films, leading up to Cameron’s on the anniversary!) In the past I’ve done music videos, fan fiction, and articles. Having exhausted my storehouse of ideas, I’m going to let another woman commemorate it for me.
The following link leads to an editorial written by Flora Klickman, for the British paper Girl’s Own Paper, aimed at young female readers and discussing both the suffragist movement and the sinking of Titanic, printed in May 2012. I may or may not agree with it (ambiguous, much?) but I found it an interesting read nonetheless.
In that supreme moment, when the choice lay between life and death, between sacrificing the woman or sacrificing himself, the Englishman instantly and unhesitatingly made his decision: “WOMEN FIRST!”
And in doing, his actions demonstrated, as no mere words could ever have done, that he still held a woman’s life in higher estimation than his own, and had no intention of lowering her to his own level. Whether we women are worth so colossal a sacrifice is a point each one must answer in her own soul.
Titanic falls forward under the weight of water. The sound of snapping cables and screams fill the air, muted through the paneling. Chairs and tables slide. Dark magic fills the air around us, a heavy black cloud with inner sparks of light.
She narrows her eyes. “I considered letting you drown but that seems a cruel fate, even for me. Both of you have been enormously helpful.”
She throws out her hand; the spell sends us spinning into the air. I slam into the paneling and hit the floor, agony tearing through me. Her mind penetrates mine and emotion explodes in me. The paneling trembles and splits. She advances on me. Her fingers clench and it feels like she’s twisting my heart out of my chest. I’m going to die. I know it, and then the floor drops out from under us. Furniture and boilers slide, smashing through walls and bouncing off steel. In a rush of panic and fear, she lets me go. The lights flicker and go out. The darkness isn’t complete; enough magic fills the room to bathe us in an eerie, sickening grayish hue lit by occasional flashes of white.
I no longer have any sense of space around us. I’m only aware of the window when I hit it. Beautiful stained glass shimmers in the magic around us. Everything settles for a moment.
“She’s split in half,” Thomas whispers. For a ghastly instant, I wonder if the aft section will float—and it plunges.
– It’s your last day to get The Secret in Belfast on sale