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It
was
different
because
this
time
he
did
n't
know
he
was
doing
it
.
Suddenly
I
was
terrified
,
almost
choked
with
a
need
to
get
out
of
there
.
Lights
were
going
on
inside
me
where
there
had
never
been
lights
before
.
Not
just
in
my
brain
;
all
over
my
body
.
"
You
and
Mr.
Howell
and
the
other
bosses
been
good
to
me
,
"
John
Coffey
said
.
"
I
know
you
been
worryin
,
but
you
ought
to
quit
on
it
now
.
Because
I
want
to
go
,
boss
.
"
I
tried
to
speak
and
could
n't
.
He
could
,
though
.
What
he
said
next
was
the
longest
I
ever
heard
him
speak
.
"
I
'm
rightly
tired
of
the
pain
I
hear
and
feel
,
boss
.
I
'm
tired
of
bein
on
the
road
,
lonely
as
a
robin
in
the
rain
.
Not
never
havin
no
buddy
to
go
on
with
or
tell
me
where
we
's
comin
from
or
goin
to
or
why
.
I
'm
tired
of
people
bein
ugly
to
each
other
.
It
feels
like
pieces
of
glass
in
my
head
.
I
'm
tired
of
all
the
times
I
've
wanted
to
help
and
could
n't
.
I
'm
tired
of
bein
in
the
dark
.
Mostly
it
's
the
pain
.
There
's
too
much
.
If
I
could
end
it
,
I
would
.
But
I
cai
n't
.
"
Stop
it
,
I
tried
to
say
.
Stop
it
,
let
go
of
my
hands
,
I
'm
going
to
drown
if
you
do
n't
.
Drown
or
explode
.
"
You
wo
n't
"
splode
,
"
he
said
,
smiling
a
little
at
the
idea
...
but
he
let
go
of
my
hands
.
I
leaned
forward
,
gasping
.
Between
my
knees
I
could
see
every
crack
in
the
cement
floor
,
every
groove
,
every
flash
of
mica
.
I
looked
up
at
the
wall
and
saw
names
that
had
been
written
there
in
1924
,
1926
,
1931
.
Those
names
had
been
washed
away
,
the
men
who
had
written
them
had
also
been
washed
away
,
in
a
manner
of
speaking
,
but
I
guess
you
can
never
wash
anything
completely
away
,
not
from
this
dark
glass
of
a
world
,
and
now
I
saw
them
again
,
a
tangle
of
names
overlying
one
another
,
and
looking
at
them
was
like
listening
to
the
dead
speak
and
sing
and
cry
out
for
mercy
.
I
felt
my
eyeballs
pulsing
in
their
sockets
,
heard
my
own
heart
,
felt
the
windy
whoosh
of
my
blood
rushing
through
all
the
boulevards
of
my
body
like
letters
being
mailed
to
everywhere
.
I
heard
a
train-whistle
in
the
distance
--
the
three-fifty
to
Priceford
,
I
imagine
,
but
I
could
n't
be
sure
,
because
I
'd
never
heard
it
before
.
Not
from
Cold
Mountain
,
I
had
n't
,
because
the
closest
it
came
to
the
state
pen
was
ten
miles
east
.
I
could
n't
have
heard
it
from
the
pen
,
so
you
would
have
said
and
so
,
until
November
of
"
32
,
I
would
have
believed
,
but
I
heard
it
that
day
.
Somewhere
a
lightbulb
shattered
,
loud
as
a
bomb
.
