How I Feel About Myrtle's Death


Myrtle’s dead, just like that. I watched her get run down with my own eyes, right in the middle of the road. It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen. Sure, I might have felt like she didn’t care about me, like she hated me, but she was still my wife. I still loved her, and I wanted her to love me. But now she’s gone, and there’s nothing I can do to bring her back. I feel incredibly sad. Nothing else could make today any worse. I was a little hopeful that I could convince Myrtle to break off her affair, that she would begin to love me when we moved out West. I had dreams, and they were all shattered. I was crying for the rest of the day. But I felt something else too, anger. I hated the driver that ran her down. I wanted to kill him for what he had done. The heartless man that was driving didn’t even try to stop. I saw that car, too. The one that hit her. It was bright yellow, and looked like it was worth a lot of money. Then I realized I had seen that car earlier that day. When the man driving it stopped to fill the car up with gas. And as I remembered these details, I then remembered who it was driving that car up to New York; Tom Buchanan. It was the same man that had just entered my garage to see what the crowd gathered around was for, the same man I'm going to confront now.

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