Disclaimer: I do not own Great Gatsby.

So I just finished the book Great Gatsby. By far my favorite book! It was absolutely fantastic. If you haven't read it, well… read it because it's a wondrous piece of literature. Long Live Gatsby.

"However glorious might be his future as Jay Gatsby, he was at present a penniless young man without a past, and at any moment the invisible cloak of his uniform might slip from his shoulders. So he made the most of his time. He took what he could get, ravenously and unscrupulously—eventually he took Daisy one still October night, took her because he had no real right to touch her hand." – The Great Gatsby

War.

A forced to be reckoned with…

It was when young Jay Gatsby had his first taste of manslaughter. His first real taste of what it was like to be a man. He was soaked in their blood, breathing heavy. Every moment that passed seemed like a grueling hour, every trembling breath he took, came like a deliberate force of the human body. Eyes tunneled with shock, hands shaken about. It was the pale deaths that he could stand no longer, the brute force that compelled boys like him to throw themselves into the fiery pits of hell.

The ice cold winter of Germany, freezing Jay Gatsby where he was planted with fear.

Love.

A feeling to embrace.

It wasn't a bought of manslaughter; it wasn't a flint of murder. But, it was, just as war, a force to be reckoned with. It engulfed him like a great fire, shredding his world apart just for the sake of one girl.

Daisy…

Daisy Buchannan.

He had waited five years to the see the bright smile of her face, and the voice that was oh so delicate, as if her very words might shatter you to a million pieces.

But Gatsby was too late.

Empty.

It was all the same for him. He saw what he knew to be, the glass half empty. It was the same every time, and every time the water seemed to evaporate slowly. Eventually, and this was only logic, that water would be no longer, and only the faint smell of the sun could linger about with the glass until someone was courteous enough to refill it for him.

Poor.

Penniless was Gatsby.

For he had come home with nothing more than the jacket on his back and the medals on his chest, shining when they caught the sun just right. No money and hadn't eaten for three days and couldn't find his way through glorious New York City.

Hidden.

Gatsby's life was a shadow. It was there but never stayed. He was wealthy, handsome, and by all means, successful.

He had stood outside night after night, watching a green light.

A green light across the bay that was rooted to a single spot. At times it would sway curiously, as if the light knew that Gatsby was watching it from afar. But never did his eyes tear from that light. It was his sign… the sign he took in as his hope.

The hope that Daisy was still there and the light that swung from her dock was just her signaling Gatsby…

It was when Gatsby realized that he was just a ghost among the plethora of material humans, and that he walked restlessly about searching for what he longed.

Redemption.

"I wouldn't ask too much of her," Nick asked hastily. "You can't repeat the past."

"Can't repeat the past?" I he cried incredulously. "Why of course you can!"

He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand.

"I'm going to fix everything just the way it was before," he said, nodding determinedly. "She'll see."

The sudden spark of insanity had him wondering why.

Why as to Daisy Buchannan.

Why as to himself for that matter. The Great Gatsby.

He almost thought himself foolish for wandering uselessly around; waiting for her to show up one day and only he would face the inevitable as she appeared with her dazzling husband, Tom Buchannan. It was a fact that he had to face, and a fact that he was willing to face, for Gatsby knew he waited too long and let the woman he loved slip through his fingers like sand through his toes as he walked along his beach.

Lavish parties were not enough to attract Daisy. Only his calling, his desire that struck his very heart, would bring her. But he was too afraid to face that desire. The long awaited years that they harbored was enough to make Jay Gatsby explode with emotion. Bottled up and stored away so that one might find them someday, unscrew the cork, at let the wings of the caged bird soar.

And that someone was Daisy.

The hardest part to redeeming himself was fixing himself. He had spent years perfecting what he was now, spending endless days shaving away the imperfections and the product being The Great Gatsby.

His stern blue eyes showed truth, perhaps some flint of hope that he could use as to reassure himself that he was still sane.

He would show them all, show Daisy that the past could be replayed and brought back up the way it could have been, should have been.

For he was The Great Jay Gatsby.

A/N: Forgive me if there are any errors, I usually go back after I read it and then fix them.