Post by Rach_E_L on Feb 12, 2014 18:00:42 GMT 1
The Great Gatsby had always been a favourite of Azela's. Like any obsessive Literature teacher, she loved to pick apart the characters, the imagery and the story over and over again to see every side of the story. How many times had she read it since she was introduced to it in school? Well, she couldn't answer if she wanted to. Each time she read the book, she got lost in the world of 1920s America, which, sadly, was a little before her time, and she let herself become entangled by the story of choices of the rich made. She loved to hate and adore each character, changing each time she read it - although a strong hatred for Daisy always remained, even when she was in the mood to feel sorry for the character.
Azela was in the library, legs-crossed and barefoot, showing off her pink, sparkly toenails that matched her fingernails. Gatsby was held lovingly in her dark hands, hardly daring to touch the old copy for fear of it crumbling beneath her into nothing, as Gatsby and Daisy's romance had done on the pages. Her finger took on an elegant air as she cradled each page before letting it fly left and gently touching the other pages as she continued reading. She really did love that story.
She remembered writing pages and pages on an evaluation of the book when she was a teenager. The topic had been Daisy, and she hadn't not enjoyed a second of her work. The pages were filled with opinions that border-lined rants about the rich girl who could never make up her mind, with insightful comments about what seemed to be going on in Daisy's mind and how that affected those around her. The conclusion was simple - Daisy was a feather head who didn't know what she wanted.
Of course, that essay was long gone now, and probably had been for years. But the story of Gatsby, Daisy, Tom, Jordan, Myrtle and least of all Nick was firmly wedged into her mind and maybe onto her soul as she imagined herself dancing at Gatsby's party, being loved as Gatsby loved Daisy, observing everything as a third party like Nick, being wonderfully good at golf like Jordan, having Tom's money as she enjoyed word after printed word of the world of affairs and not being able to recreate the past.
Azela was in the library, legs-crossed and barefoot, showing off her pink, sparkly toenails that matched her fingernails. Gatsby was held lovingly in her dark hands, hardly daring to touch the old copy for fear of it crumbling beneath her into nothing, as Gatsby and Daisy's romance had done on the pages. Her finger took on an elegant air as she cradled each page before letting it fly left and gently touching the other pages as she continued reading. She really did love that story.
She remembered writing pages and pages on an evaluation of the book when she was a teenager. The topic had been Daisy, and she hadn't not enjoyed a second of her work. The pages were filled with opinions that border-lined rants about the rich girl who could never make up her mind, with insightful comments about what seemed to be going on in Daisy's mind and how that affected those around her. The conclusion was simple - Daisy was a feather head who didn't know what she wanted.
Of course, that essay was long gone now, and probably had been for years. But the story of Gatsby, Daisy, Tom, Jordan, Myrtle and least of all Nick was firmly wedged into her mind and maybe onto her soul as she imagined herself dancing at Gatsby's party, being loved as Gatsby loved Daisy, observing everything as a third party like Nick, being wonderfully good at golf like Jordan, having Tom's money as she enjoyed word after printed word of the world of affairs and not being able to recreate the past.