She is the silent sentinel, the ghostly celebrant, that welcomes the whale’s veiled descent. Bubbles part, fizz, trail behind the carcass, a cacophony, a symphony colouring a monochrome world.
With many groans and dissatisfied sighs, the whale finds its final rest on the dark floor. And still, the ripples rain down from above. There is something wordlessly sad about the little bodies in their colourful seaweed wraps, polished oyster shells gleaming around necks and fingers. The shoeless child. The handfasted friends. A single, unbroken violin. And still, it rains.
In fits and starts, echoes and phantom notes, the opus comes to a whispering end. When the sun rises into the liquid horizon above, silence is dawn’s only companion.
The world swims on.
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Prompt: Write a creative piece of Titanic's sinking. 20 minutes of writing.