literature

The Gatsby Mansion

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Literature Text

Gatsby stood in the door of his large mansion. The last guest had finally left, after becoming sober enough to notice the time. Gatsby turned and shut the door softly. The hall was a mess. In truth, it wasn’t, but when compared to the usual grandeur and cleanliness of the Gatsby Mansion, the damage was immense. He stepped slowly forward, stopped, and then began to walk again at a steady pace. The house was empty, this section anyway, surely the maids were already working on cleaning the kitchen or sweeping up the broken wine glass in the library, the red liquid had no doubt stained the carpet, he’d buy a new one tomorrow.

He passed a painting on the way, the piece was tilted on its nail and he reached to tilt it back without looking. He rounded a corner and almost ran into a flustered maid carrying a pile of dress shirts. She asked his forgiveness with a shaky voice and he dismissed her with a nod. He wandered aimlessly for an hour, taking note of the condition of every room. As he made his way deeper into the mansion, the rooms became cleaner. Either the servants were cleaning from the inside out, or the guests had never made it that far.

Gatsby passed a door that he didn’t quite recognize, he often lost track of the multiple guest rooms scattered about the building. About once every month, Gatsby stumbled upon a room he didn’t know, once this stopped occurring, he would build an addition, the plans were already made. The room was a guest room, as he had suspected. The décor was primarily blue, reflecting the bay the separated West Egg from East Egg, or more importantly, Jay Gatsby from Daisy Buchanan. The room was like her eyes. The image came to him, a distant memory, but still ever so clear in his psyche. Perhaps the clarity was due to calling it forth one to two times a day. He picked up a piece of the blanket covering the bed between his fingers, and for a moment he recalled purchasing the fabric, and he’d never even seen the room it was associated with.

He exited the room with grace, and imagined what she would think of the room patterned after her pale blue eyes.

~*~

After another hour or wandering, passing though a few of the areas that did need cleaning (like the library and its soiled floor) Gatsby moved to his balcony. The air was crisp, and a light breeze moved the water in the bay with ease. The stars and the moon glistened off the smooth surface when the wind ceased, but this was not what held his attention. Across the bay, a small, green light glowed softly from the shore. The emerald haze reflected onto the water and spread itself across the surface. It reached for him, drew him in, and then left him go as the wind picked up once more, distorting the clear glimmer. He sighed as he stared at the light, and then, after he stood for a good while, made his way back into the empty mansion.

Decided I'd upload something just to proove that I'm not dead. A narrative I had to write for my english class about what Jay Gatzby from The Great Gatsby does in his spare time.


Ho hum

Characters belong to F Scott Fitzgerald.
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