Gemotions

The courtroom buzzed with hushed whispers. Alex, my friend, the one accused, was sitting at the defense table. His shoulders slumped. I could see the sweat beading on his forehead. I watched the prosecutor present the evidence, a series of side-by-side comparisons of his paper and the original source.

I shifted in my seat, the hard wooden bench digging into my back. This was awful. Alex was always there for me, always offering support when I was struggling, always the first to offer assistance.

I wanted to shout, to defend him, but I knew I couldn't. Instead, as the prosecutor finished speaking, I subtly nodded at Alex, hoping the gesture would give him some strength.