As the sun marched up the pale blue sky, George Wilson marched on the path with one goal: to find the murderer that killed his wife. He headed through the woods towards the only clue he had-- Tom Buchanan
Blinded by rage and determined to gain answers, Wilson approached the extravagant mansion of the Buchanan's. He knew in his heart he would not leave until he got what he wanted.
Tom, I'm afraid I can't do that. You killed my wife, and you didn't even have the decency to stop your car!
Why are you bothering me at this hour, George? I'm very busy right now, you must come back later.
Tom! Get out here immediately!
It wasn't me George, I swear. That ugly yellow car doesn't belong to me!
Tell me the truth Tom.
If you aren't the murderer, who is? Who did that to my Myrtle?
Okay fine! It was Jay Gatsby. He's manipulative, evil, and willing to do anything to get his way; best of all, he lives just across the bay
Tell me now Tom, or I swear I'll blow your head clean off. I deserve to know the truth.
Leaving Tom frightened and frazzled, George started his stroll to the infamous home of Jay Gatsby. Once a place that welcomed a bounty of eager strangers looking for a good time, it now welcomes a single man with nothing but death on his mind and grief in his soul.