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Creative Writing - Journal Entry of Daisy from the Great Gatsby

Decent Essays
September 14, 1931

Today, as the rain was tapping on my window, I stared out at the storm clouds casting shadows onto the long green fields of spring. As I was watching as the grass and the leaves in the trees on the horizon sway with the wind, my mind was recalled to a time that I’ve been trying to hide away for a long while now.

Almost exactly five years ago, under the exact same rain and grey, that Gatsby fellow was killed. He was murdered. Rain and grey, I tell you. His life was taken by one Mr Wilson with a gun. Right in his pool, too! He died floating on the bright blue water of the extravagant pool in his back garden. Now the weather was not the same rain and grey… but the feeling that consumed me after I learnt of his
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For so many years, he has been invading my thoughts and quiet moments in the garden, at breakfast, while resting… even during the thick of a fantastic plot of an astounding book. For so many years, I’ve been trying to make Gatsby disappear from my mind. But in fact, I can’t just can’t keep him out of my thoughts… I just had to write this entry in my diary for I needed an outlet to express my thoughts.

In a way, I feel as though I am being unfaithful to Tom. Now certainly, I am not sleeping around. I am bound physically to Tom, by all means. But for all intents and purposes, I am emotionally and spiritually bound to Gatsby yet. As I lie in bed at night, warm and comforted in my husband’s arms, I can’t help but let my mind’s train of thoughts travel and drift over to that Gatsby! Because of this, terrible guilt and conflict overcomes me. I thought that by now, I would be over him. I thought that his memories would be dead and gone, just as he is. But still I imagine and believe somewhere in my mind that someday he might show up at my house now… He’ll say that everything was just a big mistake and that he was never shot. He’ll be older and that age will look good on him. He’ll tell me of all the things he’s done in these five years.

And it would be undeniable, even to Tom, that one person in particular keeps showing up in my life no matter where I go must be of some sort of
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