Now there's green light in my eyes

was og going to make this gay sex but then i remembered i had to turn this in

I couldn't sleep all night; a fog-horn was groaning incessantly on the Sound, and I tossed half-sick between grotesque reality and savage frightening dreams. Toward dawn I heard a taxi go up Gatsby's drive and immediately I jumped out of bed and began to dress—I felt that I had something to tell him, something to warn him about and morning would be too late. (Chapter 8, page 157)

✯¸.•'*¨'*•✿ ✿•*'¨*'•.¸✯

That foreboding feeling permeated my entire being, and I knew I had to hurry. It pounded to the beat of my heart, not even stopping as I ran towards Gatsby's front door.

"Gatsby! Gatsby!" I cried as I banged against his door, hoping and praying to God that my fear-filled cries would reverberate through his lavish yet desolate house and into his room.

He finally opened the door after a few ticks of the clock, and he looked as if Daisy's rejection drained his very soul.

"Old sport," He smiled wryly, "Whatever are you here at this hour for?"

I took a moment to breathe and looked Gatsby over. He looked as good as a fellow could at this hour, and my heart wouldn't stop pounding even though I had stopped running long before. As I shook off this strange and unfamiliar sensation, I couldn't help but feel a sense of loss.

"Daisy and Tom are planning on leaving," I decided to say.

The silence between us became suffocating before Gatsby slowly blinked at me and smiled. I reeled back a touch and felt as if I said something wrong.

"Ah, old sport," He continued to smile, "I thank you for being concerned about me, but I'm sure that Daisy will eventually see things the right way."

"Gatsby," I hesitated, "What do you mean by that?"

His smile widened at that, almost as if he was the Cheshire cat himself, and beckoned me forward. I did so hesitantly and came to regret it. A faceless corpse, desecrated, lay on the dancefloor with Daisy staring at it with silent tears streaming down her face and a handkerchief stuffed in her mouth.

"Oh, Daisy darling," Gatsby cooed at her, "You and I both know that you'll be much happier with me."

She started to sob silently, and I couldn't help but stare in shock at the corpse that was once Tom Buchanan before snapping my gaze back to Gatsby.

"We'll have to leave New York for a while to keep the heat off, of course," Gatsby continued after glancing at Tom, "But I'm sure that once Wolfsheim's taken care of this, we can come back to West Egg."

"Gatsby," I said, hesitating once more, "What do you mean by 'we'?"

"Oh, old sport," He smiled somewhat saccharinely, "Don't you know? You're coming with us."

I backed away as if I could run from that man, from that body, and the sight of Daisy's anguish. Gatsby didn't seem to take note of this and walked towards the door, where the green light of the Bucchanan's dock could be seen flashing in the abyss. He wasn't reaching for it this time, but the glow of the light illuminated him as if he was a mockery of all that was holy and great, for he instead turned out to be a creation of all that was a sin.

And I was simply a pawn, a victim who came upon this scheme through pure happenstance and Daisy. And so we watched the green light, something that Gatsby felt to be untouchable in all its glory, unsure of our tomorrows and hereafters.

end.