A shell of former beauty, untouched, only altered by the sea and its inhabitants. People come very rarely, and most take things from where they used to be; those things never come back to their resting places. I may be old; but I can feel the restlessness in every part of my body. The shades of the deceased still wonder my prow and decks, even though I am broken in half.

I used to be a sailing palace of splendor; I took my first trip and my last. The blessed passengers I carried in my belly were truly blessed, but cursed as well. Most never placed their feet on land again.

I spend my eternity in the dark, pondering my fate and trying to pacify the growing anger within me. I have a vague memory of flashing lights, and the dying power. The image of the last salute that my captain gave as he joined me.

Why can’t anyone see me as I am? Read the faded name on my hull, and not shudder. Read the name R.M.S. Titanic, with no dread, and I shall be at peace.