Gatsby created a life for himself, one in which the people
would circle around him, never quite getting to know him. They would
always be a little on the outside, with many questions still running
through their minds. He was the center of attention. Now the leaves, like
the people, encircled the blood, like his life. The circle of blood was
only a memory of Gatsby and who he was, yet the people's questions, like
the leaves, never went away.
©2003 a zach johnson original |