Hello all who come across this story! I really appreciate you checking it out, means a lot to me.

I love the Titanic. Not just the movie but the history as well. I'm in major love. I'm writing another, more in dept historical fiction Hetalia fiction about it but have this for now.

Really this was more an exercise for POV. I don't do first person often so pointers and tips would be much appreciated.

Thank you!

I did not want to go. Let's make that perfectly clear at the first.

Why did I not want to go see the film?

Well, honestly, that should be reasonably clear to anyone who has a basic knowledge of history, shouldn't? But I'll elaborate on the concept.

I was there. That night. Cold frigid, North Atlantic waters. The ship that wasn't suppose to sink slowly swan diving it because it grazed an ice berg. Yes, I recall, quite vividly I might add, the "Night to Remember". The night the Titanic sank.

It's not a night I like to remember either. It was rather terrifying, to say the least.

So, for the life of me, I cannot figure out why some 80 years later, America would want to drag me to the cinema to see a film all about it! He was there too! And so were our other movie going partners, France and Canada. All four of us were aboard the ship that night, all four of us had very narrow escapes from some sort of peril that night.

Why in God's heaven would we want to relive that for the sake of entertainment? It would be like if I forced France to watch a movie on the Reign of Terror, or German Occupation. Or if I made America sit through a film on Pearl Harbor. Certainly they would object! Of course, Canada has no disasters that come immediately to mind but I could force him to watch a documentary on global warming and the ice caps melting. It would have the same effect, I'm sure.

But there I was, front row center to watch this supposedly amazing film. America on my left, happily munching on popcorn, the twit. Canada was on my direct right, with France beside him. All comfy and cosy I'd say, if it had not been that we were about to be tortured. Whether the others saw that or not.

Opening credits started not soon enough and I knew, within the first couple of seconds, this was going to be bad. That fake new reel footage of the ship (shown already, my God!), sent me straight back to the Southampton Dock that day. The sights, the sounds, hustle and bustle. That magnificent wonder of British and Irish engineering gleaming in the sunlight. The people, all the people! At least the film was capturing that well enough. The hundreds and thousands of people who lined the dock and boarded the vessel that day. So many of them…

If I could go back, truly to that day. I'd warn them all. I'd even beg for my people not to board…

I shuddered involuntarily as the scene switched to one of present day, bringing me back to my senses with it.

However, it wasn't two minutes later before I was haunted by images of the ship again. Rotted, dead under the ocean. Now home only to fish and other crustaceans. It made me angry, it made me sad, it made me…

Jump! The bloody hell was that? A human skull? No! My heart practically pounded out of my chest until I realized that those empty (quite literally) eyes, belonged to just a doll head. Very cruel, filmmakers.

It wasn't until my own heart settled that I felt a hand in mine. It was holding it tight and shaking just a little. To be honest, I was hoping it was America, realizing his mistake and wanting to get out of here. But, I was very surprised to see it Canada.

The lad turned and gave me a very meaningful look which I understood in an instant.

He had been dragged there every bit as much as I had. He had no intention of seeing this film. Which I understood completely. We share deeply in the tragedy. Possibly even more so then America and I. The poor souls we lost are buried on his land after all.

I gave his hand a squeeze. A nonverbal agreement, promise really, between the two of us. We'd see it through together, somehow. Then, we would both ream America and France out from making us come to this hell. He squeezed my hand back, giving me a small nod before looking hesitantly at the screen. Good, we both agreed.

The movie worn on, in the present day for a while. I was barely picking up the story. Not because it was hard to follow, heaven's no. Some American (typical that the story about an English ship should be centered around an American) old woman wants to toy with this fool salvager. Basic. Honestly, a snore worthy plot. I was busy thinking about other things. The paperwork stacking on my desk, the meetings I had to attend, things of that nature. Anything other than the movie.

It wasn't until that loud, boisterous man that reminded me of America, had he ever the urge to grow a mountain man beard, was describing the accident that I paid attention. He said it with such enthusiasm, such a passion about the mechanics of it, you could tell he was excited at the very thought. It was disgusting. I wanted to yell. The little computer simulation they had didn't show the people on board, the people left as the stern sank. The people floating hopelessly in lifejackets after. It was all horribly wrong.

And that's also when I gave that old woman a little respect. The way she looked at him! Everything I was feeling was summed up in her eyes. In her look! She knew. She understood. Exactly what I was going through that moment. Isn't that why people go to the cinema? To find characters they could connect to? In Old Rose, I knew I had found that connection. That bridge to the past.

As she started her story, I was hooked on every word. A strange feeling rose in my chest. Pride? Excitement? Thrill? I'm not sure but I know it felt like I was seeing the ship for the very first time. Again.

And I was. I really was.

That magical moment, as far as I'm concerned was the best thing I had seen the entire movie long. The old Titanic, lying under the water, miles deep for almost 90 years suddenly had new life breathed into her. The colors sharpened, she was made whole again. It was like the Titanic had been raised, gloriously intact, not a scratch on her. As if the accident had never happen! It took my breath away and I took one moment to look at Matthew, just to see that he was riding the same wave emotion I was.

After that I suppose you could say the rest was history.

I didn't care about the characters, or the story line that was being pursued, some ruddy love triangle. All I cared about was the ship and the real life friends I saw come back to life. Captain Smith. Loveable Molly! The Straus'! And perhaps best of all, Mr. Thomas Andrews. A charismatic and brilliant man. He really did delight in giving me and my guests a private tour of the ship when we boarded. A wonderful man, Ireland lost a true treasure that night.

And the ship, recreated in all its glory. I almost forgot that it was nearly all computer animated work. But oh, I did immerse myself. Every twist and turn they made down the corridor, every tea or brandy they took. Every walk down the promenade they made. A marvelously rich dinner in the dining saloon they ate. All of it, I had memories to attach to all of them! And they were clearer and stronger then they had been in years! Every detail I saw that I had long forgotten came roaring back to the forefront of my mind, with a memory to match. I was experiencing my own cruise, not that of Jack and Rose.

That is too say, until that inevitable moment that I knew was coming. That I tried to block. That I had hoped they had rewritten. Canada grabbed my hand again. We both knew what was coming.

When I saw the iceberg looming in the darkness, my heart skipped a beat. Just like it had that night. Canada beside me gasped and then swallowed it, giving me a look. I want to get up and leave but I was frozen, rooted to my seat unable to look away. Those officer's shouting just like their real counterparts had done that night. The order "Full Astern!" still ringing in my ear loudly. I watched with baited breath as Murdoch, another officer I had known personally, willed it to turn. I willed it too, hoping that the end of this movie was different, despite knowing it wasn't.

The jarring impact of the ice on screen, the loud screeching sound it made, brought back probably one of the more horrific memories I tried to suppress. Being a nation, some things just come to me instinctually. Like in war, I know if one of my fellow nations has been wounded. Or a shift of power has been made in the world. Short story is, we are able to sense those kind of huge events.

This one was over whelming.

I knew the moment the ice scrapped along the side, before Thomas could even get to me, that the ship was not going to last until morning. There would be no New York docking. Or even a rescue boat in time. I remember that night, all I felt was death. All around me. Every person I came in contact with. I had known it was going to be a disaster of an unprecedented scale.

Once, in the movie Thomas gave his announcement that the ship was going to sink in no uncertain terms, both Canada and I stood up. We were done. We had to get out of that, right that instant before we saw anymore. Of course, both America and France protested that we should stay (I still don't see how they finished the film) but we quickly headed out, looking not to disturb other guests any further.

Almost as soon as we were in the lobby, I pulled Canada into a very tight hug, refusing to let go for sometime. I rubbed his back, as he rubbed mine, both of us comforting each other. When we pulled away, we both laughed to discover we had tears in our eyes, the emotion just too high.

Matthew and I never went back into finish watching the film. We sat out in the lobby, talking about nothing really. Neither of us saying a word about the movie but I could tell in his eyes. He had had much the same journey I had. Relieving those four wonderful, relaxing days out to sea. It had been very remarkable to the ship be given new life, and my old friends brought back to life.

But I stand by what I said at the first.

I did not want to go.

But I'm glad I did.