Under spinning stars... (snerk)
This is the second to last part. After I post the end, I'll give you a minor history lesson. I took some of Kelly and Clayton's dialogue from actual things that were said during the sinking - I'll identify those quotes and their speakers.
I wrote this scene based on my extensive research of what really happened that night. There is still some ambiguity, so I chose to write the version of events that made the most sense to me. Not to go all pompous on you, but I have read a LOT on the historical Titanic, so I think this is fairly accurate.
Anyways, enjoy. I hope that somebody recognizes Alice from another of my fanfiction universes.
1000 Oceans
Part IV
I want him already.
But I am alone now, and his vow is my only anchor. If I look back at the sloping ship, I can imagine him wandering through the milling crowds, perhaps searching for Graham. The delicate skin of his ears might be incarnadine from the air’s arctic bite, but the rest of him would be frozen ivory. Perhaps he is venturing into the warmth inside, to await the inescapable...
The thought thrusts rimy needles through my heart. He will not fade so quietly. Not my Clayton. I know he is stronger than my morbid fancies paint him. So I close my eyes and remember the debonair boy who’d entered my life during a dance and sung me moonstruck under a low sky.
“Miss Clarkson? Forgive me for bothering you, but you’re really a splendid singer. I’m Aiken, I mean, Clayton Aiken.” Bemused, I smiled at the cinnamon haired stranger who stood before me with his hands in his pockets and his spirit in his eyes.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Aiken. Please call me Kelly. You needn’t be so formal. What brings you to Austin?”
“I’m here visiting my mother’s family, Miss Kelly. They suggested that I attend the soiree.” I smiled again, bewitched by the twinkling lime orbs behind the thick spectacles. Freckles starred his skin like uncounted angel kisses. I wondered how long it would take to count them all, and hot blood flooded my cheeks at the wicked thought.
“This is a quiet town. I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am. You sang my favourite song, and I’ve met with some old friends. But I’d like to dance, and the only girl I’d want to dance with is by her lonesome.” I looked around for the fortunate maiden, until I felt his large hand enfolding mine.
“Oh.” He chuckled until he glowed, as if kindled from within. Strains of ‘Let me call you sweetheart’ floated from the quartet in the corner.
“Miss Kelly, may I have this dance?”
“You may.” Primly, I let him guide me to the outskirts of the dance floor. I felt the warm pressure of his hand against my back and against my shoulder. We spun in slow circles, time becoming eternity under his gentle gaze. I looked up, breaking the tender spell.
“Where are you from?” Fancy told me that he’d floated down from the sky, but I kept those thoughts secret. He smiled down at me, daring to push a stray curl from my forehead.
“I live in Raleigh.”
“I’ve heard it’s beautiful. I’d love to live there.” Crimson flooded my skin again at my solecism. How bold he must think me.
But he only pulled me ever closer, and enchanted me with his dreamy jade eyes. “Maybe someday you will.”
I cannot move my fingers. I bite one hard, petrified at the dull tingle that follows. I slide my gloves off, and blow on my white fingers to thaw them. I look around at the other women in the boat. Their faces are like waxen apple blossoms; pale, dead, staring at nothing. I shiver, stabs of sensation transpiercing my revived fingers.
I hear a sob in my catatonic milieu, and realize it is not my own. I finally come out of the trance, and turn to the elfin little girl with tears freezing on her brilliant cheeks.
“Oh honey, don’t cry.” My voice is a whisper in the dark. She wipes the tears away with her immaculate woolen sleeve. “Take this.” And I hand her Clayton’s handkerchief. She blots her eyes and cheeks speechlessly.
“Are you all right?” She hiccups, and looks up at me. Her eyes are glimmering, wet violets.
“Yes. But my daddy’s still on the ship. I miss him.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“In Heaven with my baby brother Jon.” My heart twists for her.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. Daddy told me they’re angels.” I smile.
“Your Daddy sounds smart.”
“He is.” She studies me by moonlight, and I feel weighed by some invisible spiritual scale. “Are you an angel?”
I shake my head soberly, trying not to smile. “What gave you that idea?”
“You’re very nice. And you’re pretty, even if you don’t have sparkly wings. My daddy said that angels can be angels even in big black boots,” she lowers her voice to a whisper. “Or in purple drawers.” I cannot help but laugh, but the sound is so much like sobbing that I stop.
“I’m not an angel. My name is Kelly Aiken and I’m coming home from my honeymoon.”
“Oh. I’m Alicia Waterford. But I like being called Alice.” She wrinkles her pert nose.
“Like little Alice in Wonderland?” She nods.
“It’s my favourite story.”
“Mine too.” We share a tentative smile. “Alice, how old are you?”
“I’ll be eight in thirteen days.”
“You’re almost grown up. Do you live in New York?”
“I live in Atlanta. I reckon you’re from Texas.”
“How did you know?”
“My cousin lives there and he talks just like you.” Alice looks over to the tilted Titanic, disbelief and wonder creeping into her little face. “What do you think my daddy is doing right now?”
“I bet that he and my husband Clayton are sitting in the lounge playing cards and telling jokes and eating butter tarts.” She made saucer eyes at me, a smile blooming onto her rosy, chilled cheeks.
“Maybe they’ll have lots of adventures together and when the big boat comes they’ll tell us lots of stories.” I bury Alice’s thinly gloved fingers with my scarf’s thick, velvety violet folds.
“You don’t want to catch cold.”
So we while away the agonizing minutes. I am thankful for her chatter, though nothing can distract me from the knowledge that he is still aboard and still hopelessly, heartbreakingly brave.
Soon, she tires, and pleads for a nap, entreating me to awaken her if I see her father. “He wears a top hat and he has a little beard.” I promise her, determined to let her have one last happy dream. I let Alice sleep with her head in my lap, though I am careful to keep her warm.
I turned anguished eyes to the spectacle behind me. The Titanic’s bow plunges quietly, but as she sinks faster, the sound of collision within makes her roar like a dying giant. The golden lights flicker, and disappear.
I cannot tear my eyes away from the spectacle of the black silhouette against the night. Sharp cracks rend the air like shattering ice. Soon she is torn in two, the mangled stern slapping against the sea with a sickening rise of water. Then, she rises, with the swooping motion of an angry hand. Suspended above the sea, she points to the star strewn sky for an agonizing minute. I stare, my hands clasped in mute prayer.
The Titanic sinks with scarcely a ripple, contrite over being such a disappointment. The waves are soon placid again, eerily so.
But the air echoes with frayed screams. Tiny Alice awakens with a start, her violet eyes hazy and tearful.
I murmur an incredulous prayer to the dispassionate heavens, and fix my eyes on Clayton’s favourite star.
Technorati tags: clay aiken, kelly clarkson, clelly, fanfiction, writing, titanic
I wrote this scene based on my extensive research of what really happened that night. There is still some ambiguity, so I chose to write the version of events that made the most sense to me. Not to go all pompous on you, but I have read a LOT on the historical Titanic, so I think this is fairly accurate.
Anyways, enjoy. I hope that somebody recognizes Alice from another of my fanfiction universes.
1000 Oceans
Part IV
I want him already.
But I am alone now, and his vow is my only anchor. If I look back at the sloping ship, I can imagine him wandering through the milling crowds, perhaps searching for Graham. The delicate skin of his ears might be incarnadine from the air’s arctic bite, but the rest of him would be frozen ivory. Perhaps he is venturing into the warmth inside, to await the inescapable...
The thought thrusts rimy needles through my heart. He will not fade so quietly. Not my Clayton. I know he is stronger than my morbid fancies paint him. So I close my eyes and remember the debonair boy who’d entered my life during a dance and sung me moonstruck under a low sky.
“Miss Clarkson? Forgive me for bothering you, but you’re really a splendid singer. I’m Aiken, I mean, Clayton Aiken.” Bemused, I smiled at the cinnamon haired stranger who stood before me with his hands in his pockets and his spirit in his eyes.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Aiken. Please call me Kelly. You needn’t be so formal. What brings you to Austin?”
“I’m here visiting my mother’s family, Miss Kelly. They suggested that I attend the soiree.” I smiled again, bewitched by the twinkling lime orbs behind the thick spectacles. Freckles starred his skin like uncounted angel kisses. I wondered how long it would take to count them all, and hot blood flooded my cheeks at the wicked thought.
“This is a quiet town. I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am. You sang my favourite song, and I’ve met with some old friends. But I’d like to dance, and the only girl I’d want to dance with is by her lonesome.” I looked around for the fortunate maiden, until I felt his large hand enfolding mine.
“Oh.” He chuckled until he glowed, as if kindled from within. Strains of ‘Let me call you sweetheart’ floated from the quartet in the corner.
“Miss Kelly, may I have this dance?”
“You may.” Primly, I let him guide me to the outskirts of the dance floor. I felt the warm pressure of his hand against my back and against my shoulder. We spun in slow circles, time becoming eternity under his gentle gaze. I looked up, breaking the tender spell.
“Where are you from?” Fancy told me that he’d floated down from the sky, but I kept those thoughts secret. He smiled down at me, daring to push a stray curl from my forehead.
“I live in Raleigh.”
“I’ve heard it’s beautiful. I’d love to live there.” Crimson flooded my skin again at my solecism. How bold he must think me.
But he only pulled me ever closer, and enchanted me with his dreamy jade eyes. “Maybe someday you will.”
I cannot move my fingers. I bite one hard, petrified at the dull tingle that follows. I slide my gloves off, and blow on my white fingers to thaw them. I look around at the other women in the boat. Their faces are like waxen apple blossoms; pale, dead, staring at nothing. I shiver, stabs of sensation transpiercing my revived fingers.
I hear a sob in my catatonic milieu, and realize it is not my own. I finally come out of the trance, and turn to the elfin little girl with tears freezing on her brilliant cheeks.
“Oh honey, don’t cry.” My voice is a whisper in the dark. She wipes the tears away with her immaculate woolen sleeve. “Take this.” And I hand her Clayton’s handkerchief. She blots her eyes and cheeks speechlessly.
“Are you all right?” She hiccups, and looks up at me. Her eyes are glimmering, wet violets.
“Yes. But my daddy’s still on the ship. I miss him.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“In Heaven with my baby brother Jon.” My heart twists for her.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. Daddy told me they’re angels.” I smile.
“Your Daddy sounds smart.”
“He is.” She studies me by moonlight, and I feel weighed by some invisible spiritual scale. “Are you an angel?”
I shake my head soberly, trying not to smile. “What gave you that idea?”
“You’re very nice. And you’re pretty, even if you don’t have sparkly wings. My daddy said that angels can be angels even in big black boots,” she lowers her voice to a whisper. “Or in purple drawers.” I cannot help but laugh, but the sound is so much like sobbing that I stop.
“I’m not an angel. My name is Kelly Aiken and I’m coming home from my honeymoon.”
“Oh. I’m Alicia Waterford. But I like being called Alice.” She wrinkles her pert nose.
“Like little Alice in Wonderland?” She nods.
“It’s my favourite story.”
“Mine too.” We share a tentative smile. “Alice, how old are you?”
“I’ll be eight in thirteen days.”
“You’re almost grown up. Do you live in New York?”
“I live in Atlanta. I reckon you’re from Texas.”
“How did you know?”
“My cousin lives there and he talks just like you.” Alice looks over to the tilted Titanic, disbelief and wonder creeping into her little face. “What do you think my daddy is doing right now?”
“I bet that he and my husband Clayton are sitting in the lounge playing cards and telling jokes and eating butter tarts.” She made saucer eyes at me, a smile blooming onto her rosy, chilled cheeks.
“Maybe they’ll have lots of adventures together and when the big boat comes they’ll tell us lots of stories.” I bury Alice’s thinly gloved fingers with my scarf’s thick, velvety violet folds.
“You don’t want to catch cold.”
So we while away the agonizing minutes. I am thankful for her chatter, though nothing can distract me from the knowledge that he is still aboard and still hopelessly, heartbreakingly brave.
Soon, she tires, and pleads for a nap, entreating me to awaken her if I see her father. “He wears a top hat and he has a little beard.” I promise her, determined to let her have one last happy dream. I let Alice sleep with her head in my lap, though I am careful to keep her warm.
I turned anguished eyes to the spectacle behind me. The Titanic’s bow plunges quietly, but as she sinks faster, the sound of collision within makes her roar like a dying giant. The golden lights flicker, and disappear.
I cannot tear my eyes away from the spectacle of the black silhouette against the night. Sharp cracks rend the air like shattering ice. Soon she is torn in two, the mangled stern slapping against the sea with a sickening rise of water. Then, she rises, with the swooping motion of an angry hand. Suspended above the sea, she points to the star strewn sky for an agonizing minute. I stare, my hands clasped in mute prayer.
The Titanic sinks with scarcely a ripple, contrite over being such a disappointment. The waves are soon placid again, eerily so.
But the air echoes with frayed screams. Tiny Alice awakens with a start, her violet eyes hazy and tearful.
I murmur an incredulous prayer to the dispassionate heavens, and fix my eyes on Clayton’s favourite star.
Technorati tags: clay aiken, kelly clarkson, clelly, fanfiction, writing, titanic
