You know, I'm really tired of this crap. Tired of explaining, tired of feeling guilty, tired of the questions. It's only gotten worse recently because this is the 100th anniversary.
Understand something. I never wanted to be a %$#@ iceberg. I was living a fine, simple existence as part of a very impressive ice sheath. I knew what each day would bring. I liked the view. I felt part of a family. Then one day the bottom fell out. Or in, as the case may be. I've broken off from my home and find myself drifting who knows where, water all around me.
Maybe the temperature rose, or maybe it was politics. Why some broke off and the rest went on as before, who knows? I put it behind me and tried to figure out what I would do with the rest of my life.
One night I'm dozing, minding my own business when something awakens me. I hear this shushing sound coming toward me, too big for a whale even, and let me tell you that monster ship was busting it, going way too fast. Really, who needs to see Nova Scotia that bad? At the last second it veers off so we don't collide head on, but one of my underwater jagged edges (and believe me I had no control of my entire bulk) slits open the hull of that beast and, well, you know the rest. Take me at my word. If I had &*)$ arms I would have tried to save some of those sorry bastards. I mean, who wants to go through the next 100 years with this on their conscience.
Suppose the damn ship had sunk me? Would anyone give a crap?
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