Jay Gatsby (gatz) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-03-01 20:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open, ~isabel lane |
Who? Jay Gatsby & OPEN
Where? Roumouth Park
When? Friday afternoon
What? Gatsby arrives.
Rating? Moderate, talk of death.
Status? Open, ongoing.
For some reason, Gatsby felt almost like he'd known all along. It all made sense now. There was no other possible resolution to the events of the summer. So, when he'd heard the footsteps approaching, he hadn't flinched. He'd been lying on his stomach, and trying to turn over now would have just ended in a rather undignified splash.
Wilson had obviously had such determination in him that there was absolutely no hesitation now, no pause where he could try to explain things, no time for Gatsby even to acknowledge his presence. He'd opened his mouth, just about to utter a greeting when the gunshot rang out. There was no pain, just blackness.
That was it, then. Thirty-two and his life had been cut short. Ah, it wasn't such a bad show, after all.
But no- he spluttered, panic setting in suddenly- no, this wasn't meant to be happening, this wasn't the plan. It was cold- was he just cold? Was all the blood pouring out and leaving him chilled in the water? He turned, grasping for something to hold onto until he realised that the water had perhaps drained away because he could kneel on the bottom, he could stand up. And he did, standing there in his swimsuit, shivering, and looking around. This wasn't his house at all, this wasn't his pool- he appeared to be waist-deep in a small, murky looking lake, a large building like a very modern hospital casting a cold shadow over him.
"What-?" he gasped, teeth chattering as he crossed his arms over his chest, and then remembered- he reached round, feeling what he could of his back for a bullet wound. Had he passed out and been dumped at a hospital? In a bloody lake? "Hello? Can someone- help!" he called out, trying to keep his voice calm and controlled.