This is an amalgamation of Titanic character from two other "Titanic" movies, a few real people, and a few of my own. I don't own the Sturges family, Gifford "Giff" Rogers ("Titanic" (1953)), Wynn Park, The Foleys, Billium Dickey (A.K.A. Jamie Perse) Aase, Mrs. Isabella Paradine, or Mr. Simon Dooley (all from the 1996 TV movie) I do own the Sherwood family, Alex Johnson, Charlene, The McKinnons. Enrico Marconi (no relation to the wireless inventor, who I do not own), Edward McKean, and Jacques Boublil. All others are real

Chapter 1 April 10th: Eustace and Annabelle Sherwood, 1st class passengers

Hello, my name Eustace Sherwood. You know my name, but do you know who I am? I made my fortune fourteen years ago by mining lead out in Colorado, just like many self-made men, such as my friend, Mr. John Jay Brown, husband of fellow first class passenger and close friend of ours, Mrs. Margaret Brown. It was there I met my wife, who worked as a waitress for her father. Four years afterwards, we were married. And to think that she thought I'd have lost interest in her, whose family didn't have two pennies to rub together. Anyhow, this is our second honeymoon. We toured all over Europe, and I don't mean one of those tours where you spend a few days in every country, we spent two weeks everywhere. We ate at all the finest restaurants, visited all the museums, saw some operas, we did it all. Now, for the perfect ending to the perfect vacation, a trip home on the largest and most beautiful ship yet.

The "Titanic." The name just conveys the idea of size, doesn't it? You know how when they say you see something captivating enough, that it takes your breath away? The Titanic is the epitome of that saying. Even from the outside, she rises out of the water, her clean, glimmering, black and white iron shimmering in the sun as if to proclaim "Here I am, world!"

The dock at Southampton is all a-bustle while people from all walks of life come together gawk at (and, in a few lucky cases, board) the behemoth. You wouldn't believe how many lower class passengers there are bidding their families farewell, never to see them again. I see porters, stewards, and other Titanic personnel bringing carrying on luggage, linens, finery, etc. I even see an automobile being loaded into the cargo hold. Some say there is even a priceless copy of the "Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam". For shame, someone reading a book like that.

And then there's the list of passengers supposedly collectively worth over $250,000,000.00! And such distinguished men, too. There's Maj. Archibald Butt, President Taft's military advisor, Lord and Lady Cosmo Duff Gordon, the lovely Countess of Rothes, and John Jacob Astor, although I no longer care for him since left his real wife for that Madeleine Whateverherlastnameis, just to name a few. I even know a few myself, such as the Allison family, who are traveling with their new maid, Ms. Alice Cleaver. We met them during the intermission for a Gilbert and Sullivan show.

I even meet an old friend, Mr. Wynn Park, a handsome-ish American who's on his way to settle a crisis in Bolivia. Out of the middle of the crowd I hear a familiar croak of a voice call my name. I turn around, and I see another friend of mine, Mrs. Hazel Foley, walking right up to me, along with her husband, Alden, her dog Charlie, and her granddaughter Lulu, who I've never met before. I'm surprised she'll even talk to me, considering neither my wife nor I come from money.

She knows my wife loves to read, so she recommends a book written in 1894 called "Futility." It's about a ship called the Titan, which bears some eerie similarities to the Titanic, and not just in name alone. The Titan weighs in at 70,000 tons displacement, while the Titanic weighs in at 66,000 tons displacement. Both ships are upwards of 800 feet long (the Titan, 800; the Titanic, 882.5), can carry about 3,000 people, have enough lifeboats to comply with the British Board of Trade (actually, the Titanic has twenty, which is more than enough). Both are also triple-screw and can travel 24-25 knots.

Finally, my wife and I decide to board. The interior is even more beautiful than the exterior. The most gorgeous part is the Dining Saloon on D deck, at the foot of the famous Grand Staircase. After unpacking, we decide to stroll around on deck. We even see such distinguished men as Mr. Joseph Bruce Ismay, president of the White Star Line, although he's traveling just as a passenger; Capt. Edward John Smith, and Mr. Thomas Andrews, the ship's designer.

Next thing you know, we hear a loud, deep toot. It's the ship's whistle. Everyone rushes on deck to bid farewell to the crowd below, 1st class on their deck, second on theirs, and third on theirs. Everything seems fine, until the suction from the Titanic causes another liner, the New York, to break free from its moorings. Everyone watches in horror as the New York pull closer foot by perilous foot. But the collision never comes. Fortunately, tugboats are already on the scene. The crowds breathe a sigh of relief. I even hear a young man say something along the lines of "That was a close call."

An old man next to him replied, "Yes. Too close."

The rest of the trip happens without incident. After leaving Southampton, the ship heads to Cherbourg, France, to pick up some passengers, including, to our delight, Margaret Brown. From there, we head to Ireland, to pick up some more passengers, and then, off to America. Unfortunately, we won't reach Ireland until tomorrow.

As the sun goes down, everyone who's not still unpacking heads down to the first class Dining Saloon. We see one woman there, the unhappily married Mrs. Julia Sturges, who (unlike her husband, Richard Ward Sturges) has had her fill of Europe, and is returning home from America without him, but with her son, Norman, and daughter, Annette. The type of dress Mrs. Sturges was wearing was appalling. It was so low cut, you could see her (I wish there was a better word for this) cleavage.

I eagerly await the next day. Annabelle, however, is less comfortable about this trip than before. "What's wrong?" I ask.

She tells me "I finished the book Mrs. Foley recommended."

"And?"

"Well, in the book, the Titan's unsinkable, and I don't need to tell you that's what they've been saying about the Titanic. However, in the book, she hits an Iceberg and sinks one cold, April night."

I am understandably unnerved, but I tell her (and myself) "It's only fiction."

Both of us understandably soothed, we fall right to sleep.