Titanic Sinking: Episode 1
(a story told in 3 parts)
By Michael W. Roberts and Erik James
Copyright (c) 2012 by Michael W. Roberts and Erik James
ISBN: 9781476352176
Cover art by John Davis (https://www.behance.net/john_m_davis)
For more information on Michael W. Roberts, please visit https://michaelwroberts.com.
A Word from the Author
I’m old enough now that I’ve lived through a few major “prophesies” or predictions that did not turn out to be true. 88 Reasons Why the Rapture will be in 1988 might have sold well in bookstores, but I’m fairly confident it wasn’t too accurate.
Y2K was a prediction that focused more the economic and technological concerns of a computerized world, but we didn’t crash and burn during that time either.
I’m writing this introduction in the year 2012, a year of remembrance for the 100th anniversary of the Titanic and a year of possible doom if the predictions of the Mayan calendar are as bad as some people believe.
When predictions don’t come true, we can easily look back at the whole scenario as one big joke – even though our feelings were real enough at the time.
When Erik and I began writing this story, we wondered what would have happened had someone predicted the tragedy of the Titanic. Would people have listened? Would they have dismissed the “prophet” as someone gone mad?
Those are the answers we’ve set out to discover, but we thought we’d add a twist. Titanic Sinking takes place in a storytelling world that Erik is slowly building up with a collection of tales that you can expect in ebook retailers soon enough.
Evil forces are at work in this storytelling world, and the Albatross (our Titanic) may find a different fate.
--Michael W. Roberts,
April, 2012
From the Journal of Minister Ryan Guest
13th April 1897
I woke this morning in a cold sweat with a near feverish desire to set down to paper that which appeared before me in my sleep. Though I'm tasked with visiting parishioners today, I believe they will certainly understand if my errands are delayed this one time.
Perhaps it was the vividness of the dream that set me on edge. Certainly, many strange events unfolded throughout the course of my dream – or, perhaps, vision is the better word for it. Never before have I been able to recall a dream from the beginning all the way till the end. I have no doubt that I, even now in the familiar comforts of the reality of my study, can write out the entirety of what I saw in mysterious visions throughout the course of the night. Other nights, I'm rarely able to recall a single detail.
I feel that the Almighty God may be speaking to me in a new way. Perhaps this vision is the first of many, all of which are meant to somehow help the congregation – even if it is a warning from the direst of consequences.
And I fear that more than anything else, this writing will be a warning – if not to us, then to those who had hoped to luxuriate aboard the mightiest vessel to ever be built. The only problem is, I do not believe that the mighty ship has yet been built. Perhaps by sharing this story and the name of the vessel itself, I might be able to change events.
My dream was a sequence of scenes from a young man's life, which, put together, created an interesting tapestry of a man. It took me some time in the dream to understand that all the scenes before me involved the same man, for they did not display in sequential order. Yet, I think there may be some divine purpose in the way the dream unfolded, so I will recall it here exactly as it appeared to me.
1.
My first impression of the subject of my vision was of a grown man, already advanced to a distinguished title. Captain Edward Stevens wore the pressed white uniform of a ship’s officer. He was a picture of propriety, with neatly trimmed brown hair and beard. Even his fingernails were spotless. He sat straight up, as though he were incapable of slouching. As he looked out the windows of the private carriage he rode in, he kept his cap next to him on the plush velvet seats.
He looked at the city with a passing interest. (I could not identify it from the quick glances in my vision, but I am most certain that the city is located here in Europe. Though the city seemed familiar to an Englishman, I am not well traveled enough to know its exact location.) The captain seemed more meditative than curious, and I suspect that he stared at nothing in particular while he gave thought to the tasks at hand.
When the carriage rounded the final corner, the captain snapped out of his reverie as he sat forward in his seat.
“My, my,” he said, a gleeful look in his eyes.
The object of his affection was certainly something to look at. A luxury cruise ship towered over the carriage that had brought the captain, and the ship stretched the length of several city blocks. I can think of no other single structure that as large as this one ship. Even the grandest churches I’ve ever seen could not equal the sheer size of this behemoth.
Grand letters on the side of the ship proclaimed its name as though daring any weaker vessels to contradict the sentiment of its title. “The Albatross” seemed larger than humanly possible, and I could not imagine any reason that so large a group of people should ever need to cross the ocean at once.
Captain Stevens strode up the walkway and set foot on the mighty vessel. Onboard, the ship’s opulence matched its boisterous appearance. Vast decks covered the front of the ship, allowing passengers a marvelous view of the ocean. Grand staircases led into beautiful ballrooms. Exquisite chandeliers hung from ceilings in every major gathering spot. The oak doors at the entranceways were each covered with intricate designs carved into the woodwork.
Even the captain was impressed. He had certainly been sifting through all of the blueprints for this newly completed vessel in anticipation of the upcoming voyage, but it was another matter entirely to see the whole of it assembled.
As he walked, I imagined the type of passengers who would be able to afford such lavish accommodations, and my mind flashed first to the royal family. Whether or not royalty would choose to ride the ship, the captain and his crew clearly believed their ship was more than worthy of hosting an expedition from members of even the most respected families in England – even the world.
Stevens was young for the appointment as captain of the largest vessel on the waters. Normally, more seasoned veterans were chosen for such a prestigious honor as this ship, but the young captain had always been on the fast track. His knowledge of the sea and of the ways to handle a ship was uncanny. He anticipated every wave, and he seemed to have a contingency plan for any challenges that came his way.
2.
Without warning, my vision shifted, and Captain Stevens was no longer the imposing presence that he was just moments ago. He appeared before me now as a boy at the impressionable age of twelve years in battered clothing. Dirt covered his shirt and pants in a way that only a boy in love with rowdy play outdoors can manage. I remember my childhood clearly, and I know that we did not roll in the dirt like pigs to deliberately cover ourselves in grime. All the same, I still returned home in need of a bath and my other set of clothes.
The twelve-year-old boy in my vision already had a love of the ocean. Though his father was a potter, young Edward cared little for the quiet processes of firing the kiln and creating fine bowls and vases. His father was not necessarily exceedingly skilled at his craft, but he always had plenty of work to pay the bills.
* * *
~ I must admit before I proceed any further in the writing of these facts that I do not know whether my dream or vision is of actual history or if it is merely representative of some greater truth. Only setting the vision to paper will help me understand more fully.
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