Oh my goodness, it's taken so long! But it was definitely worth it, I love this piece :^D
"Gatsby, I'll kill you, you son of a―!"
The slamming of the door cut Myrtle Knightley off before she could get out the last word. Then the black Rolls-Royce peeled off eastward, leaving her alone in the chilly night air. She stood on the middle of Williamsburg Bridge.
It was currently the longest suspension bridge in the world, joining Manhattan to Long Island. It was also nearly 150 feet above the East River; a fact that made Myrtle's stomach churn when she looked south over the side. She immediately turned back around and closed her eyes, gripping the cold metal behind her. The breeze picked up, forcing her to let go and fold her bare arms to keep herself warm. The coat Tom Wilson had given her before he died about an hour ago was still lying on the back seat of Gatsby's gilded getaway vehicle. She cursed aloud, for it had been a good coat.
Out on the Manhattan side, two motorcycles and a dark roofless automobile sped onto the bridge. At the sound of the engines approaching, Myrtle let out a sigh. The distinct vehicles would be the New York Police Department, hunting down Gatsby. Myrtle was impressed they had managed to follow them this far on their crisscrossing chase through the streets, but she strongly doubted they would actually catch him.
No, she knew they wouldn't catch him. Catching Gatsby was like grasping air – he will always slip through your fingers, no matter what, as Myrtle was just learning. The police's desire to end his reign of the New York underground would never be fulfilled. Gatsby would never be captured; especially with the big six in that car of his. The Motorcycle Squad and the Automobile Squad would simply never be able to keep pace with him. And neither would Myrtle, it seemed.
As the irons ripped past her without even one sideways glance, Gatsby was probably already well into Long Island, having a spirited discussion with George Buchanan, his right-hand man, about which one of his many hideaways they should spend the night at.
The breezer actually pulled over beside her, and the man in the passenger seat asked her if she would come with them. They either recognized her from the showdown at the Keystone and were giving her a chance to come on her own accord, or they were kindly concerned about a woman who appeared abandoned on a bridge. Myrtle had a feeling it was the former. She obliged, and sat in the back.
That Gatsby, damn him! He'd left her to the bulls. Not only was he double-crossing her by giving her to the authorities like some parting gift, but he was taunting them because he knew no matter what she told them about him, they still wouldn't be able to bring him in. For every hideaway of his or juice joint he ran that Myrtle knew of, he probably had three more that he'd kept secret from her.
The officer who ushered her into the car said his name was Baker and started asking her questions on the ride to the police station. She absently gave truthful answers, while making sure to portray herself as an innocent who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time that day when Gatsby took her in. She'd say he had been gloating to her about his nefarious achievements, and that that was how she'd come to know these things about him. When she had soon realized this was not a man she wanted to cross, she forgot any attempts to get away from him. It was a story of mixed truths and lies which would hopefully get her interrogation over with quickly and smoothly. She'd give them some of what they wanted without incriminating herself.
As they reentered the maze of Manhattan roads, Myrtle made two vows to herself.
The first was easy: Never again would she let herself get stuck on another man. The second was a bit trickier to accomplish.
"I may not be able to ever capture you, or your heart, David," Myrtle whispered silently to herself, "but by God, I swear, I will find you. And when I do, I'll stop your heart altogether."
My 9-part story combining elements of The Great Gatsby and the movies of Quentin Tarantino is finally finished!
Here is Chapter 1, the opening of this tale. Lot's of action, drama, excitement, and a little mystery too! Probably still not the very best that I can do, but gosh is it close! I'm SO happy with how it has come out!
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RemembranceSerenity. Blissful hills of green grass, speckled with bright rhododendrons, daisies, tulips, other flowers and shrubs that I cannot name. But mostly, there is tall, lustrous grass. Strangely, there are no trees. Not even a bush. The hills of these spring colored plants roll on endlessly beneath a sky of robin’s egg blue, unadorned by any puffs of clouds. This is where I am, where I should be. It feels right.Remembrance by ~tlrlscl
I stroll at a leisurely pace to the crest of one such hill, and slowly spin a full 360 degrees, taking in everything around me. I notice splotches of red staining the mostly green surrounding me. Blazing crimson, shining like overr
The Last Letter | The Tempest ReleasedI am going to die. The realization dawned on me. This one clear, definite thing amidst the chaos surrounding me.The Last Letter | The Tempest Released by ~tlrlscl
I was hurtling down a steep and slippery slope toward the open ocean. The thick trunks of trees flashed by me. In front of me, Catherine gripped the reins, maneuvering us in and out between the incoming columns of bark. She was screaming. Behind me, Andrew was clinging the edge of the coffin-cart and the back of my coat with white knuckles. He was screaming. I was perched between them, also clutching the sides of the cart, white-knuckled and screaming.
While the three of us raced to the crashing sea below, another ocean of water
Some Musings of an Invisible AntMind swimming.Some Musings of an Invisible Ant by ~tlrlscl
Too much to take in.
I zone them out; they don’t bother me.
I love them dearly, I do, but there are times where I would just rather not be around them. The little ones jeer at each other and make noises not appropriate at the table. The older ones speak of things that have no meaning to me—politics, the economy, gossip about people that are not present. The ones closer to my age group find themselves inclined to join in the exploits of the mature and immature classes. There is even a point where one of the younger ones does something that got the older ones’ attention, and everyone either erupts in laughter