Monday, January 23, 2012

The Great Gatsby Through the Eyes of George Wilson

“Beat me!” Myrtle cried. “Throw me down and beat me, you dirty little coward!
After a brisk moment she ran from me, she was waving her arms madly and before I could do anything she was gone. It didn't stop, it was gone as fast as it came, like a phantom out of nowhere. 
Michaelis hurried to her and I could only watch as they checked the pulse on her, the car had mutilated her body beyond belief and I could no longer look. It felt like my life was over and the end was somewhere near.

-------

After a while, a crowd had gathered consisting of policemen and those with an insatiable curiosity for gossip or news.
"....and let's have your name. Look out now. i want to get his name," said the policeman. I knew the type of car, the yellow blur had reconstructed itself in my memory.
"You don't have to tell me what kind of car it was! I know what kind of car it was!"
Tom came over and in a comforting way he put his arms on my shoulders.
"You've got to pull yourself together," I didn't know his gruff character could manage a gentle word, much less a phrase and I let myself go for a second.
"Listen," said Tom, he was shaking me. " I just got here a minute ago from New York. i was you that coupe we've been talking about. That yellow car I was driving this afternoon wasn't mine - do you hear? I haven't seen it all afternoon."


No comments:

Post a Comment