The Great Gatsby Alternate Ending Essay

I couldn’t sleep at all last night. The nightmare of the past events haunted me all throughout the night. The visage of the body being laid out and defiled in the middle of the cold, barren road was still within my head like looking at myself in the mirror. I was near the brink of collapse, unable to bear what had just happened. I stayed in bed till about midday when I woke up from my slumber, my face dry from tears. I wanted to know if Gatsby had come back and ask what happened when he was still standing there. I hasten to get dressed and ready to go over. Gatsby answered the door half resuscitated, half unconscious from the hours of sleep deprivation. I inquired Gatsby to what happened when he was still standing outside Daisy’s house.
“Nothing
Warn him about the chance the police might suspect it’s him. Tell him that Tom might confess of who really did it. I had to tell him, even though I was sobbing all morning about it.
“You have to go away, lay low for a while” I said.
“I can’t go away, not when I’m so close old sport.” “They’ll eventually trace it to your car.”
He wouldn’t hear it. Not until he can finish his desire. He spent so long to retain the connection he had with Daisy so long ago. He just couldn’t let her go. For a fluttering moment, I felt some form of pity for him, having spent years of his life, chasing after his obsession of a girl he knew and grew affection for. I then disregarded this feeling thinking on how he can still maintain that childish, idealistic viewpoint of her.
After my discussion with Gatsby, I visited Mr. Wilson to check on his condition. A hardened, bronze man was there helping to console Mr. Wilson from his recent loss. “Ah, hello, my name is Michaelis” said Michaelis, pulling me apart to another room. “Did you hear about what happened to his wife?” “Yes, I was actually present when his wife
Once I reached the door, I realized it was still open since midday. I came inside and heard just the wind breezing through the entire house. I thought it strange of him to just leave without announcing of his departure. I walk around suspecting him to be asleep after going up, not realizing he has left his property unlocked. I search about looking for him, but to no avail, until I reached his study. The room is lit by a single lamp hunched over the desk, peering into a note that was left. I read it with such caution that I thought the note would disintegrate in my hands the moment I let my eyes off it. The note that Gatsby had left me