Why I Decided to Shoot Gatsby and not Tom

                      Tom was indeed a source of irritation for me. However, I did not believe him to be the man who had stolen away my wife. I merely thought him to be the man who lorded over me, showing off his wealth, in the way rich men do. I thought him harmless, just an annoying prick who held the key to my financial problems. Besides, Tom had pulled into my garage with Nick and Jordan in one car, when that same day Myrtle had been killed by someone in the other, yellow car. I knew that he knew who owned the car though, because I’d seen him drive it before. So I couldn't kill him, he was the key to finding my wife’s killer. I didn't want to kill him either. Even though he was annoying, you shouldn't go around killing people just because they’re pricks. When I went to see Tom, to get the name of the man of who took away my Myrtle from me, I was directed to Gatsby. I was ready to kill the man who I thought had taken my wife; I had no urge to kill the prick who lorded over me. Especially since that might jeopardize my chances at killing Gatsby, the man who I believed Myrtle was cheating with.

What I was Feeling Right before I Committed Suicide

            God was testing me, I now realize. As I looked down upon the body of Gatsby, I felt no great relief. I felt betrayed, both by my God and by my spouse. I felt anger, I felt pain, and I felt everything in a great raging swathe of emotion. Before I killed him, I was numb. I had been overwhelmed by everything that had occurred. I had focused on one objective, which was to kill the man who Myrtle had been unfaithful with. This man was to die, because I believed God was telling me to kill him, to take my revenge. Oh, how wrong I was. After I killed Gatsby, my emotions came back. I could feel no relief, only grief. Why did I feel no sense of divine righteousness? Then I realized that the Eyes of God were not telling me to kill a man, they were telling me that he was watching. He was testing me, to see if I could endure yet another test. I felt betrayed. Why would God place this undue burden upon me? Why did my wife leave me for a strange man, who lay in a pool dead by my hand? Why did I kill a man when deep down I knew that God never wants us to kill? I felt overwhelmed with emotions and questions. So many questions, so many feelings. I had to stop them. I had to. They hurt me too much.

What I was Thinking About When Myrtle Drove to New York with Tom

                 It was always rather odd. Tom visiting my shop, that is. The first time, I just couldn't believe that a rich man would stop by my place, in the middle of the Valley of Ashes, to see me. I mean, it's filthy here, and he was, well, rich and polished. He also kept lollygagging on sale, which I thought was him lording over me, to show off his wealth. But he could have done that with anyone, why pick me? It was very strange, and exasperating.
                 Then I also began to notice the effect he had on Myrtle. Every time he pulled up to visit, she would become excited and as giddy as a schoolgirl. She'd always been captivated by the rich and their lifestyles, and she had been treating me with melancholy for awhile now. But it did surprise me when she would treat me as if I didn't exist around him (or at least as if I were some butler she didn't even need to pay heed to). When she glided past me, only addressing me to get me to bring in chairs for everyone, I thought it was rather strange that this case of rich-lifestyle obsession was so severe. Then when she left for New York with him, I became really puzzled. I was thinking about how odd the whole situation was, what with him visiting us, and with Myrtle being even more rich-person obsessed than normal. But she was my wife, so I decided to trust her, isn't that what the Bible says to do? But I couldn't stop thinking on how weird the whole arrangement was.

What I was thinking when I shot Gatsby...

                When I shot Gatsby, my mind was numb. Myrtle had been everything to me. She was the only good thing left to me in this wretched world. I'd lost her. In fact, I'd lost her twice. Once when she was killed, and then twice when I lost the pure memory of her when I found out she had been unfaithful. Oh, whatever did I do to make God hate me so? I work long hours for meager pay, in a place I don't like, and for people I can't stand. The one thing I had was Myrtle, and as it happens, I didn't have her in the end either. So for once, I decided I was going to get something I wanted. I was going to get revenge. I knew that the man who had taken my wife as his mistress must have been the one to have killed her. I searched for him, my mind numb with anger, pain, and revenge. I was directed to Gatsby, and it was Gatsby I shot. I shot him because I had been sure that he was the one who had taken her life and her faithfulness. I shot him because I was thinking on revenge, on my losses, and on my cursed life. I shot him because my brain was numb with painful thoughts. My brain was numb.

What I was Feeling When Tom Delayed the Sale... Again

                         Running an auto repair shop is hard to do. Trying to run one in the Valley of Ashes is even harder. First of all, almost no one knows I exist out here. Even when they do, all the business still usually goes to the city- the large companies there out-compete me in every way. They're faster, cheaper, and have tons of workers. So in order to stay afloat, I have to jump at every opportunity, which is extremely stressful.

                           That is why working with Mr. Buchanan is so frustrating. He is my ticket to an easier life, if he would only sell me his rich-man's car. I could make a killing off of it, but the problem is the pompous braggart knows that. I'm convinced that he is toying with me, dangling his car in front of me. I suppose that's how he gets his kicks, by showing off his economic power over me. Why else would he constantly visit me, but never sell? Even his excuses are flimsy. I'll give you an example of one of our conversations:

Hello, Wilson, old man, how's business?
     I can't complain. When are you going to sell me that car?
Next week; I've got my man working on it now.
     Works pretty slow, don't he?
No, he doesn't, and if you feel that way about it, maybe I'd better sell it somewhere else after all.
     I don't mean that, I just meant--

                              C'mon, I work in this industry- I know it doesn't take this long to fix a car for sale. 

Why I Chose to Live in the Valley of Ashes

                 There is this miserable little plot of land in between West Egg and the corrupt, sin-ridden city of New York. It is a God-forsaken place, a place filled with the rotting corpse of industry. It is my home, this Valley of Ashes. 

                  You might wonder why I would choose to live in such a place. I would tell you that I live here because I am afraid of what would happen to me if I didn't live here. 

                    To my left lies the city of New York, where I hear accounts of bootleggers shooting people and smuggling goods everywhere. If I lived there, I would constantly fear for my life. To my immediate right is West Egg, where the newly rich throw wild parties into the wee hours of the morning. If I lived there, I would never get a moment's sleep, and I would be constantly on edge as drunken men and women drove cars around my property. East Egg is a little beyond West Egg, and that is where the established wealth are ruined by the easy inheritance of money and social niceties. I would be afraid of the effect the place would have on me, perhaps turning me arrogant and dull as the years wore on. Anywhere beyond those places is really out of the question. Firstly, I could never afford to move everything Myrtle and I own that far. Secondly, Myrtle wouldn't ever hear of it. I don't know why, but she seems strangely attached to the place despite having only a few friends here.