A Survivors StoryMore Like This
April 17th, 1912. New York, New York.
To those who wish to know,
I may have survived, but I'm not proud. The struggle to make it onto a lifeboat almost made surviving worthless. My family wasn't so lucky. They all died, every last one of them. When I returned home I was alone. I would rather spend a lifetime in Heaven with my loved one then the rest of my life without them.
My story of survival is like any other. I was 15 and engaged to a man in New York. I was from Italy and I spoke some English. My family wasn't poor, nor were they rich.
Everyone lay asleep late into that night; everyone except me. I stood by the door and listened to the late night conversations of many people rushing up and down the halls. I began to grow tired and long for my bed so I slowly stood and tip-toed across the wood floor.
When suddenly I was jolted forward; landing on my stomach. My mother awoke and cursed in Italian. Before the voices in the hall were whispers, but with that jolt it opened a