Chapter 1: Gatsby

Gatsby's POV:

In the past five years of my life, I have tried my hardest to become the man that Daisy would love. Oh I know she has loved me, she has ever since that night we met at her house; when I was only a soldier, appearing by complete mistake. In my eyes she was a beautiful fairy, fluttering around the house, her long, golden hair bouncing behind her head. Her eyes held a mysterious, coquettish gleam that trapped a man's soul like honey to bees. I was enraptured by her glittering appearance and knew my mind would only think of her for the rest of my life. As I kissed her full, supple lips that were partially gapped as she breathed softly, I knew that I would fall hard over the cliff of love; my only salvation- her love.

While I was at war, her letters brought hope to me. She wrote of her love for me and her impatience for me to return home. Before I met my dearest Daisy, I was scared to die. I wanted to go to war, become a hero and return home showing a medal of honor to woo the gals. Another part of me hoped to die in the war, as I had no life to return to. I mean, oh sure I knew how to act like a gentleman and talk like a cavalier and how to don the best clothing to look like a refined man but that don't mean anything if you don't have enough old money to get the pretty, rich girl. However now that I have Daisy I have a girl worth fighting for, to live and keep my head down. My mind no longer has the constant battle, back and forth on whether to take the risk of dying a bloody, meaningless death to become a battle hero, to sticking my head down and hoping nothing will happen. For now I knew I had to live, I had to see the mystical, beautiful fairy that is named Daisy.

After I served my time, when I had survived the war, I couldn't return home fast enough. Though next thing I knew I was in front of the prestigious Oxford, the school above all others. I didn't understand, perhaps I never will, but there was a mix-up and instead of getting to go home, I was stuck in Europe away from Daisy for the next five months. I couldn't, wouldn't, write to Daisy of something I couldn't understand so I told I had to stay in Europe for just a little longer: I knew she would wait for me as she always had before. But next thing I knew there came a letter and I looked at it with fervent eyes that never could read fast or slow enough. As I read the letter an infinite amount of times, I felt anguish I had never felt before-not even when I was cheated of Cody's inheritance by his family. Perhaps this was when I lost my sanity and my mind was fractured into tiny pieces that could never be fixed, not even by Daisy.

After reading the letter, I knew I had to return home right away. You may call it what to will- denial, living in the past- but I knew Daisy loved me; she always had and always will. Oh sure she may have had a passing fling with Mr. Buchanan as she was missing me so much and hoped to find solace in another man, but that was all it was and all it ever would be. I would always be there in the back of her mind as she looked at Tom and her love for me would surpass her love for him every time. I sent her a letter of my returning home, as I had finally gotten the money, and in that letter I declared of my undying love, of how I couldn't live without her near, saving every letter and how her words were the only reason I survived. I wrote my soul to Daisy and the next day she wed to Tom Buchanan. I returned back to America to find all newspapers held the same headline with the same picture and the same story: Wedding of the Decade and under the caption the couple of Mr. and Mrs. Tom Buchanan.

How I hated Tom Buchanan. He was nothing but a no-good, rotten, hard-edged man that had enough money to persuade Daisy's family to arrange a wedding between them as it had to be arranged. He was a well-educated polo player that had two eyes of cold blue ice that looked frozen in perpetual hate. Mr. Buchanan was an unfaithful man that could be an honest man for a hundred years and never deserve Daisy. I got all of this from a glance at the newspaper before I tore it shreds in a fit of unholy anger that wasn't for a minute jealousy.

So there I was standing in America: no home, no Daisy, not a penny to my name, and only the clothes on my back to live. It was 1921 when I saw Wolfsheim for the first time. I was in America for only a week, a decorated war soldier still in battle clothes living off scraps of other people's food when I decided I had had enough of being treated like dirt when I had been ready to give my life for these people. I went into Wine-Brenner's poolroom looking for the infamous Meyer Wolfsheim. I had never met the man before but I knew his face from the descriptions of others. He had an edgy face with a stubble for a beard going around his mouth. His hair was lighter than the pitch black that had been described to me but I recognized the distinct swirl at the top. His eyes held mystery and a hardness that came with the business- as he had described to me in later months. He wore an obfuscous suit with a matching tie that on anyone else would have been tacky but he made it look as pristine as if he had designed it, maybe he had. I made a beeline for him but it was more crowded than I had expected for an afternoon and people were everywhere dancing and eating and the lighting was too dark in some places and too bright in others and the sound felt deafening but wasn't hardly over a murmur. I had finally made my way and tapped him on his shoulder.

"What can I do for you Mr. …?" His words flowed from his mouth smoothly with no stutter or pause. I momentarily forgot of what I wanted to ask as I had expected a drunk or maybe him to be harder and not give me a care of the world.

"Gatsby. I would like a job Mr. Wolfsheim. I know you haven't heard of me or know me but I got back from the war a week ago and have nowhere to go or even a job to get money." I said in a way that hoped didn't sound as bad as it did to me. I felt like I had paused too much, thought too much, maybe even came across too desperate. I stood there, feeling like a fool and sweating so bad I felt the perspiration running down my face and back as Wolfsheim securitized me so much he was squinting. Then suddenly he let out a boisterous laugh that scared me so bad I jumped and he clapped me on the shoulder.

"Come on have some lunch with me." He said it as if it were nothing. At first I was skeptical until he pushed me and I ate to my heart's content, piling food so much I knew I would have a stomach ache later but didn't care. For the first time in months, the months before the war, I had a decent meal that was hot and served to me and didn't look like it would come alive and eat me before I ate it! After eating we sat and talked and I learned exactly what I would be getting myself into and how much money I could make. I was so thrilled when I heard of the money; I had a chance once again for Daisy. I was determined not only to get Daisy but to show society that poor boys grown men CAN get the rich girl turned women. Money shouldn't determine who I can love but since it does I am determined to get money and to get my rich woman.

I stayed with Wolfsheim for two years, growing and learning from this beautiful man that gave me so much knowledge that Cody couldn't have given me. He was my closest friend yet I couldn't tell him about my love of Daisy as I knew he would want me to forget about her. So I bought a mansion across the bay of Daisy's house so I could look across the water and see her, imagine what she would be doing. I sent my father, a man who I barely thought of as such, a small picture of my mansion hoping it would show him that I have done what I had always set out to do; become a rags to riches story. Next on my list was to become a poor boy turned man that gets the rich girl turned woman. And I would get her, even if it took my whole life. At the time I didn't think it would be that hard or even be difficult but I didn't realize how far gone my mind was to reality.

So I threw elaborate, sparklingly beautiful parties to draw Daisy towards me. Oh I know you must be thinking that I went about it all the wrong way and if I truly loved Daisy, I should have just walked up to her door like a man and meet her. Well, I'll tell you this, confrontation with your soul mate is certainly not as easy as it sounds. First, Tom Buchanan will answer the door and certainly won't let Daisy out of his site with another man. Second, I face having to see Daisy's newborn daughter, the one that she had with Tom, not me. Third, a part of me I'll never be willing to actually say thinks this, Daisy could reject me; turn me away as if I was trash. So if Daisy came to me instead of me crawling to her like a desperate, bitter boy living in the past, I will seem like a lavish man that bumps into an old love.

For three long, exhausting years I threw party after party, every weekend keeping hope in my search for my love. Every night, every long, cold or hot, and bitter night I stepped to the end of my dock and reached my hand out to the bright, neon green light that was at the end of Daisy's dock. Some may say it symbolized my reaching for Daisy and for a dream I would never get, but it was so much more than that. I reached for that light in hopes that one day I would grab that light and it would bring me closer to Daisy, to the long forgotten past that seemed to be replaying in my mind day in and day out. I could not get over my love of the first woman who loved me when I was not even rich. Money may not be everything to some, but to Daisy, it caused her to marry someone she didn't love when I had been willing to do whatever necessary to earn her love that came with money.

I suppose if I would never have met Nick, I would have eventually given up and my dream would be lost in the winds of hopelessness that seemed to want me to drown. However, approximately 5 years after I lost Daisy, I learned that the man who had moved in next to me, in a quant, little, forgotten house had a connection to Daisy. I invited him over straight away to my next party and threw and extra elaborate party in his stead, hoping that if he sees this beautiful party, he will see how much I love Daisy. As the party reached its climax and the fireworks went off, I sent my faithful butler Ferdie down to get Nick's and Daisy's friend Miss Jordan Baker. She moved slowly and sensually down the hallway on her way to me and as she got up close to me, I told her about my intentions. Her face gave way to disappointment then shock and recognition and finally gave way to a conniving smirk that put shivers down my back. She promised not to tell Daisy anything and almost sounded much too joyful to help me in my endeavor for Nick.

Mr. Nick Caraway; he is a strange man. He holds a sort of moral values that I haven't seen in another person in either East or West Egg ever. I watched him from afar at first during the party; he seemed out of place and knew it. I don't mean in the clothes but in the mannerisms. He didn't want to drink or get drunk, he most certainly didn't want to dance or even move really. However, after a few drinks he loosened up and saw the party in a new, strange way. He hid no emotions on his face; I could see them as if watching a television. He seemed to enjoy my attention as I talked about what part of the war I remembered. As he talked about me being a horrible host and not knowing he was talking to me, I fell a bit. I most certainly couldn't be the best I could be if a lowly man that lived right next door didn't know who I was.

(Line break)

The next time I saw Nick, I took him to the downtown area, just through the Valley of Ashes. I thought about to just telling him my plan and getting it over with, just ripping the band aid off, but then I suppose I wouldn't tell it exactly right. Daisy's anguish over my letter, the love we shared, and our story had to be exactly right to show Nick that he most certainly had to help. He HAD to get Daisy to his house so I could meet her, just one more time if it had to be the last.

(Line Break)

When Nick asked me what time he should have Daisy over I was pensive. He had to know everything must be perfect and so I said whenever he pleases. I looked to the tangled, gnarled mess of greenery at my feet and thought. I took a moment and thought about what I was doing to Nick, what I would be doing to Daisy and her daughter, and then took a deep breath and refocused. Maybe it was just my imagination but the grass seemed to grow in length before my very eyes and I finally looked up at the tiny, dilapidated cottage in front of me and took in its… dirtiness. I offered immediately to give Nick a job so he could easily be as rich as me but he refused and I was confused.

Why would a man living in a tiny house surrounded by the rich and famous, surrounded by friends and family more rich than he could ever hope or dream to be, turn down a chance to be one of us? Was it he was so ignorant of what he would be missing? Did he see something bad about it that us rich ourselves could not see? Whatever it was I went home and continued to open my doors to my mansion to air them out and make the space looked lived in.

The next day could not have possibly come too soon or too late. I sent my gardeners right away to Nick's house and ordered from my favorite greenhouse Daisy's favorite flowers from when she was mine. Then immediately I ordered my chefs to bake the best treats to go with tea. I was so nervous after making all the calls and realizing I still had six and a half hours to be at Nick's and thought I should go to supervise. Nervous beyond belief, I stood, shaking, in the dim sunlight and misty porch at Nick's. I sat in the living room anxiously awaiting the arrival of Daisy. The flowers were pressing around me and my breath kept getting shorter and my hands kept moving and shaking and my eyes darted to corners when I finally stared right at the clock and I couldn't take it anymore.

That, of course, is when we heard a car come up the drive and knew instantly it was Daisy. Nick went to the door and I bolted out the back. I took a deep breath of the fresh sea salty air and my mind became clearer. I went to the front as dignified as I could, knocked, and walked into the house I had just escaped from, sopping wet and all. Then I saw her. The woman of my heart's affections stood in the living room and took my breath away like she had the first night we met. Her hair was bobbed in the cutest hairstyle that would have looked god awful on anyone else. Her eyes had changed and seemed to bear a burden no soldier like me would ever be able to but held a spark of longing and grace. Her supple lips captured my eyes for a millisecond but it was enough for my breath to hitch. As my eyes kept traveling down, her pale skin and lavender dress enraptured my eyes to her body.

She saw me and my eyes held hers until she looked away but I saw the recognition, loving glaze that I remembered from before the war. The day seems foggy to me now but I distinctly recall silk shirts and a bubbly laugh that tapered off into crying. The weeks that followed were even more so foggy and undistinguishable and so as I come to my end here I must hasten to tell the rest. The only memory I can take from the day I met Tom was the feeling of utter anguish when Daisy said she loved Tom, the frantic pleading and begging, and numbness of killing a woman and never stopping.

Do I believe I became a man Daisy would love? Yes. Do I believe I deserve her or she deserves me? Yes. So as I lay here dead, I think of all the times I had of Daisy and all I went through for her and my last thought? Well that was

"Poor boys don't marry rich girls."