True love never dies on the Titanic

2

At exactly eleven o 'clock, the Titanic started its internal engines, and by the time it took off, it was twelve o 'clock... The correct time is eleven fifty-nine.

In less than an hour and 59 minutes more than 1,500 people will follow this dream ship into the cold hell of death. I suddenly felt the urge to put a g*n to Bruce Ismay's head and order him to stop this voyage. God knows how I'm going to get on a tanker in the height of the Tokyo Tower, break into the upper deck and extract the boss of White Star from three or four hundred rooms, and then I'm going to perform the stage play that takes him hostage and stops this highly anticipated maiden voyage.

If I wasn't an orphan girl in a ghetto, but super 007 or Spiderman I would definitely start making a schedule.

I turned and followed the busy crowd upstream, the Titanic drifting away behind me. The little sketch in my sleeve slipped into my palm. I lifted it up again, and the sky began to be clear and blue. The gray clouds were clumping and solidifying in the light blue sky. Some weak sunlight made the yellowed paper more fragile and worn, and Jack's boyish face came to life in the rough charcoal lines, and I always felt that Jack and Mary had a story.

Of course, no story is as good as the next voyage on the Titanic, where he meets the woman he loves in his life and freezes to death in the Atlantic.

God knows why I can't find him in any of the bars, maybe the script at the director's was meant to make this guy have to be in this great story. And it's none of my business. I don't have a ticket to the boat, I don't have a $30 ticket, and I don't meet the man I love in my life.

Hold the end of the sketch paper between your index and middle fingers, hold it high, and throw it away. This story has nothing to do with me.

At the last second of the paper from my fingertips, someone behind me called out, "Jack, wait for me..."

Fingers suddenly tight, hard to the bone pain will fly up the sketch caught, hard to hold the boy's face in the palm of his hand. I turned quickly and ran to where the sound came from. Before I could look, I shouted, "Jack, Jack, Jack Dawson!"

Don't get on the boat, don't win that lucky ticket, someone wants you to live, and the woman who wants you to live... I f*****g owe her my life.

I had never been so eager to complete the ghost task of representing repayment, trying my best to save the hero of the Titanic once, because the woman had draped the only blanket over me, and I had to hand it back to her once.

She wanted the brilliant Jack Dawson to live, and I had to keep going around the Harbor Bar, which was the best I could do.

Somebody stop me from yelling around like a madman, my shoes don't fit at all, my toes are grinding as I run frantically, and I can almost smell the familiar rust on the soles of my frayed toes.

I pushed my hand through the crowd of people who had come to see me off and made a thrilling leap between two brand new classic cars. There were still some sacks of cargo piled on the dock, and I jumped onto them with great strides, and then jumped off quickly when I could not stabilize. I heard the direction of the voice calling Jack, but there were so many people that I couldn't find him at all, and I just kept running in that general direction, hoping to bump into him at the last moment.

By the way, did God throw me into early 20th century England when I was supposed to go to hell, so I could come here and scream? And miraculously, I still have to.

The rhythm of my steps has been increasing, and I can hear a cry from the bottom of my feet, and every step off the ground feels like a jump. I suddenly felt a genuine joy that I could feel the health and strength of these feet during such intense running, and that each bone representing standing and walking had the strength to support all my extreme movements.

Even if I am poor and have nothing, no nationality, my black hair becomes golden, my face is westernized, I do not know where to eat my next meal, I wear the coat of a dead body, and I will never see any relatives again, I am grateful for this rebirth, because I once again have a pair of feet that can run and jump.

As long as I can run, as long as I can jump, as long as I can turn, I can have everything.

I called out viciously, "Jack." God knows if it was him, but I saw a boy with a particularly similar profile in the distance and rushed over without hesitation.

Several shiny new cars with shiny front honks suddenly drove up and stopped on the dock, just in my way. I have no time to stay here, even the detour of time to skip, lift the hem of the coat and vigorously jump into the front of a car. The driver behind the front of the car looked at me in surprise, as if he were watching some incredible seven wonders collapse.

The front of the car is smooth glass, and the glass is a light brown wooden roof. I reach out and jump onto the top of the car, and the power hidden in the soft limbs is skillfully used. I stood directly on the roof of the car and looked around. The crowd below was still as busy as ants fleeing a major earthquake.

I heard high-pitched whistles, scattered chatter, footsteps, and the sound of mechanical axles carrying goods mixed into an indistinguishable din.

Black smoke billowed from the Titanic's chimneys, and a grey-winged, white-bellied seagull flew down from the blue sky and landed next to the gangway perched high on the upper hull of the first-class class.

Time passed by minute by second, and it was getting closer and closer to eleven fifty-nine. My movements began to be rough, and I gasped with impatience.

The door under the roof of the car suddenly opened, and I was ready to jump, too fast. I staggered, my body fell forward at the last minute. A gentleman's crutch was already sticking out of the door, followed by a dark gray men's bowler hat, and a man who happened to be leaning on the crutch came out, raising his voice with some annoyance and asking, "What's going on?"

Then he finally looked up, and I was precariously about to jump out of the car, and the two of us just went up and down. The first thing I saw was the other person's eyes, their eyes were as transparent as glass beads. They were the light eyes common in Westerners, with a yellowish brown color, and there seemed to be a residual unpleasant color after being disturbed.

It was a young man, smartly dressed in a gray striped three-piece suit and a white stand-up collar shirt. Wearing red-brown leather gloves, carrying men's crutches directly, his eyebrows are raised on one side, the corners of his mouth are tilted down, and his arrogance and impatience are displayed.

I had no time to stagger my body away from the encounter. The impatience on his face changed to surprise, and he immediately threw his body back to back away. I had fallen so hard from the roof of the car that I landed in his arms. My face rubbed against the button of his suit in front of his chest, and the pain made me dizzy, and the person I hit lost his footing and was forced to fall straight to the ground with me in his arms. He gasped, grunted something painfully in his throat, and finally, in an angry rising voice, he mumbled, "Lovejoy, what is this?"

You are nothing.

I quickly braced myself, and the wide man's hat that I had worn on my head fell off, and the big wavy golden hair fell down with teeth and claws, and the thick hair fell over his angry face. He was obviously frozen for a few seconds, his expression rigid, his long hair temporarily isolated the complex world outside, we looked at each other.

Breathing was so close that I could easily smell some kind of perfume on him, some kind of men's perfume.

Unfortunately, it's not my type of perfume.

'Sir? Someone shouted in a hurry, seemingly pushing his way through the crowd to reach us.

The sound made me immediately return to my senses, the place where I was hit dull pain. I looked up to get up. My scalp ached so hard that tears came out of my eyes. A strand of hair was caught in the men's suit, apparently by the silver watch chain in the inner pocket of the suit jacket.

The man obviously returned to God, and his drooping mouth was pressed very hard, and even the smile lines were forcibly pressed out. His expression was inexplicably angry, and there was no hint of politeness towards the lady in his expression, except that he did not spit out a certain bad word.

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