The Boy Who Never Drowned (#JustWriteIt) #Wattys2015

Chapter Six

I was exhausted. My eyes throbbing, a quick relief every time I closed them. The Titanic was tired, all the bodies it encompassed worn out. There was no moon. Victoria was asleep, our bedroom a dark abyss. The sheets were wrapped around her slim body, so tightly that it was as if she had been swallowed by a snake. I sat cross legged on the bed, trying to listen to the music that always drifted from the crack in the entertainment room's door. There was nothing. No sound. As if the whole boat was underwater. I had taken a bath earlier, craving warmth. I sunk below the surface, letting the room sway a bleary picture. The water stung my eyes, but I kept them open, wanting to witness this grey world that I was seeing. How a little water could conceive such a distorted appearance? I thought of how the world should sink below water, how different but yet the same it would become. Everything blurring into a parallel universe where the houses would morph into one, and the people's faces would warp and twist in a watery manner until you couldn't tell the difference between your mother and the Prime Minister. I wondered how long I had been holding my breath for.

I woke, startled by the door unlatching. Half my Father's face could be seen in the dull yellow light of the hallway. His eyes met mine, neither one of us looking away. I almost thought he would then close the door and it would be forgotten in a dream, but he spoke. His gruff voice breaking the silence.

"Felix," he said, pushing the word from his mouth. "I'm worried about you." I was shocked, for this had never been an emotion I'd assume he'd have about me.

"Don't be." My timid voice managed, sounding so much like a child against his.

"You're becoming more and more..." he trailed off, his eyes cowering to the floor. "I just want you to be happy." He finally mumbled. He behaved this way with only one other person I knew about.

"I am happy." I said, wanting to dissolve his worry, wanting to say something, for once, that he wanted to hear. But again, it had appeared that I had done the opposite.

"You're too intelligent to be happy." He half laughed, trying to make light of the severity that underwent his true meaning. I kept silent, remembering the things that Anne had taught me and how they weren't particularly intelligent or perceptive. "Don't stop drawing, will you?" He then said finally. "I may not understand your imagination, but it doesn't mean it should die." And he waited.

"I won't." I replied, thinking that I hadn't drawn a thing since boarding the Titanic.

"I love you, Felix." The words were a warm, welcoming knife to my chest. My Father's voice trembled, as one does when saying goodbye to someone for a very long time. "It's important you know that now." The emphasis on the word now confused me, but I did not dwell on how he emphasised these words at the time, I was in love with them.

"I know." I managed, quite taken aback. I desperately wanted to say that I loved him, for now was the only time I thought appropriate, but the words were locked in a possessive part of my mind, not willing to let them go. So instead I let the selfish monster hold onto them, and said nothing else. He closed the door after taking an unhappy glance at Victoria, having her last free dream in a bed that only belonged to her.

***

A soundless crash. I woke from a dreamless sleep, my eyes unable to adjust to the darkness around me. I felt like a bear waking up from hibernation, the depths of my cave enclosing me from the world. It was so dark, I couldn't see Victoria sleeping; I couldn't see my hand out in front of me. A room of shadows, one of them must have woken me. My feet landed on the cool boards of the floor and I fumbled around for my boat shoes. I was wearing a white t-shirt that I'd held onto for some years, my newly growing muscles trying to escape from it like wings. My trousers were linen and blue and fell off my skinny legs. I grabbed my coat from its position on the door and left. I was not sure why I had taken this unexpected adventure that wouldn't have happened if it were not for the invisible alarm. I could have easily gone back to sleep, but a determination that risen somewhere inside me that drove me to the deck. I walked as if in a dream, gliding up the stairs and through the corridor that was absolutely quiet. No giggling was heard, no shuffling no singing no snoring. It was a ghostly ship, as if I had arrived somewhere in the future where it had been abandoned. The deck. Icy winds cut into me, razors to my chest and a poisonous blade to my ears. I wrapped my arms around myself and looked up at the blue moon. It was partially hidden by a cloud, but it shone through it like a stain glass window. Stars littered the translucent sky, a black ocean. I felt isolated in a freezing paradise, and I welcomed the cold. No one was there, the deck was deserted, forgotten. I strayed into the middle, embracing the great Atlantic Ocean that, at that moment, only belonged to me. I pretended I was the captain of the Titanic, looking upon my endeavour and the unseen nature I had witnessed. I breathed in, my eyes fixated on the moon, obstructed by a white sheet. A shift in the air, and the sheet had evaporated. The moon beamed like a silver chandelier, a luminous outline encircling it. I looked down from the magnetic pull of the sky to the deck. There was a girl. She sat upon the railing, her white dress that looked like it was crafted using the moon's glistening glow floating down to the ship's floor. She hadn't been there before, like nature had materialised her being into the air, composing her to be perfectly poised and balanced on the railing. I gingerly approached her, wondering if she was alright. As I grew closer, I noticed things. Like her hair was grey, an odd blend of light and dark, and her dress shimmered, as if covered in dry water. I was too afraid to speak, scared that my voice would break the dream. Suddenly, as I was a couple of feet behind her, she turned her head.