Explore jaygatsby

     I am standing on a dock. The sun is setting, a simple design of colors spread out against the sky. And as I look down (because you do have to look away from the sun, duh), I see that magic is real. Magic and sirens and mermaids and knights and dragons and fairytales are all real because there are magical sparks shining on the water. It is magic. It is golden treasure down below from a sunken pirate ship. It is pixie dust and Peter Pan’s under the dock chasing his shadow. It is a golden path and I wondered if I could follow it and stand under the sun.     On the other side of the dock, away from the sun, the sky is purple and the

SPOILERS FOR THE GREAT GATSBY    The wind blew ash across the world, as the sharp blue eyes of T.J. Eckleburg, turned black in the coming night, stared down disapprovingly at Wilson’s Garage. The sobs of George Wilson had long since gone quiet, as he went to bed to sleep away his sorrows. A new sound had replaced it, the grinding, scraping footsteps, of something not quite human. A figure, covered by a blood-stained sheet lumbers out of the garage door, left ajar by the mourning husband. The ashy wind tugs at the edge of the sheet, the invisible hand of T.J. Eckleburg seeking the truth. Suddenly, the sheet falls to the ground, and the