Written as coursework for Grade 10 English course. Monologue for George Wilson in The Great Gatsby.
How long? Why did she do that? Why did he do it?
I don’t know! But I know that… he killed her. Dead. Her life stolen like… like mine almost. She fooled me. But somebody knows. The eyes! The eyes of God… watch… see… everything. He saw—He knows.
He saw him, too. God knows how, why, he stole her from me. And why he killed her! Dead like—my home. My hope. The—ashes.
Life is dead. Sure, I may be here, walking. Life may be real, but it’s empty. Worse than empty. Where, oh, where? Where did I go?
All I know is that this can’t be. He stole my wife. Completely. Not one spot of my ruin left uncovered. Not one lil’ scratch without salt.
He made a mistake too. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t know me. Or maybe that’s why he destroyed me. Maybe he knows, has some hate. Maybe I be dead—but not killed, yet. I’m like a ghost without her. She meant everything to me, and then some. With her gone—
I got nothing left. I didn’t have that much to start, but I was happy with her. I couldn’t hope for none better.
I remember the firs’ time I met her. She was a nice girl, and soon I… I loved her. And when we got married, I worked hard to make her happy. I did everything that I could! I might not have had as much as other people, but everything that I had I gave to her.
Why did he take her from me? Couldn’t he take someone cared for less? Most men got more than me. But he takes from me. Takes and then throws to the floor, smashes into little pieces.
It’s like stealing from a beggar! Taking away all that he has! And God sees that sort of thing.
I reckon that she was hope for me. A bit of something from a better life that was always just too far to get. It wouldn’t have been that bad if he had just stolen her from me. I could have fixed that. Showed her how much I love her. And then she’d be mine again.
But DEAD! She’s gone… I can’t see her in this life—And if there’s something after this I dunno where we’d be going. She just isn’t here. At all! And she won’t be coming back.
I don’ reckon I could ever love somebody again like I loved her.
He killed me! There’s nothing here but this shadow of me. I’m probably not even alive; just a ghost. But the pain—
He killed TWO of us. I reckon he lives happy in his big house with his dirty money and his big yellow car, and don’t care about two lives screaming for right in this world. Is our blood the only stain on his hands? Has he crushed others?…
I’ll crush his dream like he crushed mine. Like a flower ground into the dust. He’ll wish he had never been alive. And then it will all end. Finally. I’ll kill my pain by killing him and whatever his sick dream is.
He RAN away! Didn’t even stop for my woman he stole. I won’t run away. What have I got to live for? More than him though, I reckon.
My tears fall into the unthankful ashes. But not for long. Not for long. God knows I’m right. He sees all. I know what’s I know. And there’s a lot that I don’t know. But for me, it really doesn’t matter that much. I’ve just got somewhat to do, and then I don’t care ‘bout anything else. Nothing else at all.