Gatsby

Head hung low, the sound of metal against metal chimed with each step. His life was on the line, again. All for a mistake. While we uphold our justice system with such revere, there are some that suffer, such as Gatsby, who was accused of a crime he hadn’t done. His carefully pressed vest creased by aggressive handling by the bailiff dragons. His mane that he worked so long to get just right, now was splayed in different directions, frizzed.
“Gatsby!” A familiar voice cried, wavering with sobs threatening to come out. He ignored it, not because he hated them, but because he didn’t want to look at her. However his eyes betrayed him, moving to catch glimpse of a Pearlcatcher, his love, Letters, a court record-keeper.
“Gatsby I know it wasn’t you!” She cried again, looking at him with her own tear filled eyes.
Gatsby didn’t want to give her false hope, he didn’t want to. Because this time he wouldn’t come out of this alive. Instead, he closed his eyes and gave her a beaming smile. He didn’t want to see her cry, but he didn’t want her to see his own tears streaming down his eyes.