This is a short drabble featuring the Hooded Justice reflecting on the car accident of Nelson Gardner.

Sometimes it wakes me up at night. Sometimes I sit over the newspaper clippings and his obituary, and just stare at the word accident. Because it wasn't an accident. It wasn't just a twist of fate that separated us, that severed our bond. I had told the world of our love, and fairly soon after, the car was being pulled away, the body was in a bag, and I was standing there, knowing that this was no random happening, no life occurrence, but this was done to him. And to me. The hardest part of it is deciding if I was wrong or not. Had I been wrong to be in love? Had I been wrong to love a man, instead of a woman? Had I been wrong to not want to stand in dark corners and empty alleys, instead of being able to walk around, hand and hand, happy. Is it wrong to be happy? Often I think it must of been. It must be wrong to be happy. Because if love is happiness, then there are so many people in the world who hate both. Who want love to fit into a long list of their rules, to fit into their picture, and to their views.

So sometimes I think it was wrong to love, and sometimes I think as the Hooded Justice, fighting for love was the bravest thing I could of done.