Intervention - The Great Gatsby
Gatsby strode gracefully alongside Daisy whose eyes were determinedly watching her white patent leather shoes as they hit the soft, sumptuous rug in the room’s foyer and carried her along the glowing red hallway to the ornate steel cage encasing the hotel’s elevator. The flame that once seemed to flicker between them had been snuffed out and was replaced with a painful muteness. With a deft movement of his arm Mr Gatsby slid open the cage and they stepped inside. At the pull of a lever the ground lurched below their feet and they were trapped in the box hurting towards the fiery pits of hell as their clothes seemed to strangle and dampen in the heat. Daisy reached out and tentatively placed a petite, clammy hand on the shoulder of Jay’s pink suit jacket in an attempt to bring him from the torments of his mind and back once more into the heat of the lift to comfort her.
‘Jay, I – I’m sorry. I thought I knew what I wanted but you know things have their ways of escaping me. I didn’t realise –‘
‘Let’s not start Daisy. Not now,’ he said softly but sternly. His broad hand closed around hers and he tucked her arm under his before he resumed his silent stillness. The only part of him he allowed to move was one tiny muscle in his chiselled jaw which twitched in persistent protest against the reality that he and Daisy could not be as they were five years ago. Daisy was the incarnation of beauty, of gentleness and of wealth, all of which drove Gatsby. She was the green grass on the other side of the fence. In Gatsby’s eyes the splendour of their past remained his destination; it was still unquestionably tangible. In reality however he had only just caught a glimpse of it and it was receding further from him into the realm of fantasy, the quality of Daisy’s love for him, a mere delusion. It was at that moment Gatsby wondered if he would be forever reaching out to the green light across the Sound to grasp nothing but the darkness of the night, but he shock the thought from his
‘Jay, I – I’m sorry. I thought I knew what I wanted but you know things have their ways of escaping me. I didn’t realise –‘
‘Let’s not start Daisy. Not now,’ he said softly but sternly. His broad hand closed around hers and he tucked her arm under his before he resumed his silent stillness. The only part of him he allowed to move was one tiny muscle in his chiselled jaw which twitched in persistent protest against the reality that he and Daisy could not be as they were five years ago. Daisy was the incarnation of beauty, of gentleness and of wealth, all of which drove Gatsby. She was the green grass on the other side of the fence. In Gatsby’s eyes the splendour of their past remained his destination; it was still unquestionably tangible. In reality however he had only just caught a glimpse of it and it was receding further from him into the realm of fantasy, the quality of Daisy’s love for him, a mere delusion. It was at that moment Gatsby wondered if he would be forever reaching out to the green light across the Sound to grasp nothing but the darkness of the night, but he shock the thought from his