The Great Gatsby Junior {h.s.}

Chapter One

When I was young, my aunt taught me to be a gaudily lady, although that was not whom I wanted to be, nor what I wanted to spend eternity with. She taught me the intricate ways of cosmetics and the fashion that follows it. How, when you wear certain dresses, you have to have a corset to make your frame smaller to fit. She taught me how my body poster should be. "Spine straight and head held high with pride of your ladyhood and your dainty hands intertwined in your lap like a lady should always be." She said this to me every day since I was young and could remember. She taught me to speak my mind in the kindest of ways and showed me when and how to use my manners. "Speak whatever you may wish, but be sure to say it kindly, in a way which a person may not be offended but rather hesitant to respond." Which, all of the aristocrat life style, is much too out of my taste range. I'd rather slouch and be comfortable with who I was and wear casual dresses, I'd rather keep my thoughts to myself then speak them at all.
My aunt was a poor woman, but somehow, she acquired a lot of wealth in selling some clothing that was way out of her creativity chest and then married a man with just as much - maybe even more - wealth than her. She told me how she used to be poor, how living in Long Island, New York was hard while poor, at least for her and the rest of the Wilson family name. She said what helped with the family's great wealth that we have now, was the publicity my father and mothers death had received. When he committed suicide at some rich guys mansion, that gave his name some type of reputation, even though he was dead. Gave my mother a reputation as well, but a more bad one. Funny how life still bites you in the ass when you're dead. He had "The mad man," kind of reputation. Not exactly the best of appearances for our family, but neither was my mothers. Somehow, it drove people to use my Uncles car shop more often, just to see the horrific scene where my Aunt was murdered by that rich man in a yellow colored car and to view the area the mad man known as my father lived. It was disturbing to me to know that people are this nosy and amused in something so daunting. Of course, when I was told what happened with my mother and father, I didn't understand the concept completely until I grew older. All I knew is some of my friends from my school kept asking me about my last name, and how much hostility I got for it.

"Daughter of the mad man."

"Belle the mad woman."

I remember when it was 1931, I was only six. I remember this day clearly, because it was literally the hottest day of Long Island of my existence for being so young. I remember the sweat on my skin and the heavy dress just making my body heat matters worse.
"Bella, do you remember Myrtle?" My aunt had spoken softly to me, her hands daintily fixing the dangling golden earrings that hung from her ears and dropped down her pale neck, the motions of the droplets of gold looking quite aggravating to the skin. She was prepping up for a dance, a dance I couldn't even go to.

"No, auntie, I've never heard her name until now." My voice so small, and honestly, I was in shock when I was about to hear what was going to be said.
"M'darling, I've never spoken to you of your mom have I?" She questioned me and the reason I was never told about this Myrtle.

But the word mom has struck me. The way she said it twisted knots in my stomach in ways I've never felt before, ways I've never even had again. I felt at a high amount of anxiety but made me want to find out more yet stay to myself. I was six, and before that day, my aunt was my mom. The next day, I found out about my actual mothers death, and how that lead to the death of a rich man and a mad man. When the story was first told, my aunt told me my mom was indeed in an affair but told the police that she wasn't to keep her feminine reputation a clean slate. But then, I asked her with who, and the name honestly surprised me, well, now that I'm the age of understanding.

Tom Buchanan.

My mother was trotting around with Tom. I knew him, I knew who he was. He talked to our family quite often and that made me wonder if anything was going on then. But my mom, and Tom. I cant believe it. My mother never had an affair with that rich man named Gatsby. It was a miscommunication, it was a lie told to the press to make Gatsby look bad and a lie that killed my father when I could have possibly still had him around. I used to think why no one told the truth about that tragedy.

But then I thought about it deeply one day.

They never cared about the truth. They cared about the money and fame.

***
Okay, so, this fan fic is for those who loved The Great Gatsby. I have just recently read it, and I loved it very much. So, I've been inspired to do this. A small warning, this will cause for long time periods for updates, due to my perfectionist actions, plus, this is a thing I need to look up and educate myself because its based in the 40's.

Chapters will not be as long as the book, due to my lack of patience. But, I can promise this will have a TON more chapters than the actual book, considering it is a fan fic and its for the fun of me to write and the entertainment of you to read.

I hope you guys enjoy this. Thank you so much.

*WARNING*
There will be violence, cursing and sexual content.