AN: Love the Green Mile movie, and the book, so I'm writing a Fanfction on it.

First I need to clarify a few things:

1. I'm basing the story on the book timeline, so Coffey was 1932. The story begins in 1930; two years before Coffey.

2. This is an M rated Fanfiction for violence and swearing.

3. And I do not own the Green Mile.

Please read and review. I would love your input.

Thank you my lovelies!

Chapter 1: The Test

Another hot summer's day meant another long and dreadful shift at the Green Mile. The morning shift had only started, and the heat was starting to seep through the several cracks in the walls, and windows. The shades in the office couldn't even keep the sunlight from engulfing darkness. Not everyone had shown into work that morning, Paul Edgecomb walked the mile, the green tiled floor, checking each prisoner as he went by; making sure that he was keeping the peace. The young pup Dean Stanton was to show up in approximately half an hour, and Harry Terwilliger, the main guard at the desk called in saying that he was coming in late; lunch time was Paul's best bet on when he'd show up. Then there was Brutus Howell. A big man, a strong man, yet he wouldn't hurt a fly unless necessary. They gave him the nickname "Brutal" for pure sarcasm and irony, but Brutus didn't seem to mind. It had a little ring to it; curled off of the tongue slightly. Brutal wasn't going to arrive until dusk; he had what they called, "the grave yard shift."

Paul strolled up and down the cells, glancing at each prisoner as he walked by; both were still sleeping. There were two prisoners at that time. Alexander Smith was an inmate who came in almost two weeks past. He was short, slim, and quick. Most of his physical features presented the stereotypical look of the average serial killer. He had raped and murdered his wife; he ran after he committed his crime. Before he was caught, he pulled a knife on two men at a market. It didn't take long for the police to show up, and in the blink of an eye, he was found guilty at trial and was sent to Cold Mountain prison; which was awfully quiet. They presided in E block; also known as Death Row. The other prisoner was an older gentleman; he obtained glasses, white hair, and a pair of chocolate brown eyes. He was an average sized man, yet strongly built. His conviction was the gruesome murder of his so called gay lover, of who he later resented, and while still alive after multiple stab wounds, found himself watching Harry Winstel eating his inner organs; he died slowly. It made Paul's blood curdle. It didn't matter though, considering that Harry was to be killed in less than a few days. Rehearsal started in the late afternoon of the second day, and Paul, being the perfectionist that he always was, wanted to make sure that the execution was going to be efficient and successful without any complications. He wasn't too worried, considering that Brutal was going to be running the show. Paul glared at Harry, trapped in his cell. He didn't like to call him Harry, none of them; it was too damn close to their own Harry. "Winnie" was his nickname, short for his last. At first the inmate didn't appreciate it, but as time passed, he warmed up to it.

Paul inched closer towards Winnie's cell, finding him lying on his bed, his eyes wide open. Paul found it disgusting, but it wasn't Winnie's fault that the man couldn't sleep with his eyes damned shut. Paul could hear the loud snoring coming from both inmates, and he really wanted to snap, and tell them to shut the hell up! He'd wanted to for the longest time. Large amounts of energy were being bottled up inside all of the guards on E block, and there was only one way to let those emotions out. The reason for the madness is that E block had been extremely quiet lately, so there was no action thrust upon them. There were no brutal fights between inmates or guards for that matter, and it had been like that for the past few months. Brutus and Paul often arm wrestled, although Brutal always won, it attempted to draw away all of that energy; and usually it was worth a try. Paul glanced at his watch and deemed Dean late, about thirty seconds ago. It wasn't long before a young, sharp featured man burst through the door. He placed his belongings aside, and reached for his hat; placing it on his head with a firm grip.

The corner of Paul's mouth stretched. "You are late Dean."

Dean shook his head. "I'm sorry sir on my part. Both my kids came down with a fever this morning and wouldn't stop puking. My wife was doing her part as I was doing mine." He rubbed the back of his head. "It won't happen again Paul."

Paul nodded with satisfaction, followed by a slight chuckle. "I'm just pulling your leg, son. But it better not happen again; kids puking or not. When my kids were young tots, they were puking all over, and yet I still managed to get to work on time."

Dean nodded quickly. "Yes sir."

Paul wandered to the desk, and placed the pencil and clipboard on top. He leaned against it. "There's some cleaning to do, think we can get it done before lunch?"

"Depends on it sir," Dean said. "What sort of cleaning did you have in mind?" he questioned while fixing his tie.

Paul shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I'm betting that the office needs to be cleaned, drastically," Paul suggested as he stared at the light above him. "And I'm betting that the lights need dusting."

The young officer frowned. "Awe, come on Paul! You know I hate heights."

Paul started to walk away. "Well, do you have anything else in mind instead of just playing cards?" He sauntered around the desk, glaring at a piece of paper. "But first, the prisoners have to eat."

Suddenly, a click was heard, and the back door opened. An older officer, about the age of forty five walked into death row, with a mug, and several folders occupied in his hands. He was shorter than the rest, about the height of Dean, 5''9 or so, and he obtained gray hair; a pair of glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at Paul and Dean before him. Paul obtained a confused look upon his face. "Harry, you are a little early. You said you would be here at noon."

Harry slowly walked towards the desk, and placed the numerous folders carefully on top. He opened one, and drew his eyes away from his Supervisor. "Well, I must have lied then."

Dean grew curious. "What you got there?"

"Paperwork," Harry quickly replied, "paperwork for us, the other cell mates, and a new convict."

Paul tilted his head slightly, "A new one?"

Harry nodded. Both Paul and Dean noticed that Harry was solemn this morning; he never smiled on a regular basis, but something was on his mind. It might be a little early to ask what. "What's his name?"

Harry raised both of his eyebrows. "The Warden hasn't given me his profile yet, so I do not know, but he wants something from us."

"Us?" questioned Dean.

"Well, I did say that there was some paperwork that we guards have to complete." Harry paused before continuing. "It's what Hal likes to call a questionnaire?" Terwilliger tossed a large booklet towards Paul without warning. "Look at it. It is total bullshit."

Paul stared at the front cover of the booklet, and opened the first page. It obtained small fine print regarding the rules and regulations of both the guard's main duties and the questionnaire. He continued to flip through the occurring pages, and noticed that most of them obtained a question and four possible answers. It was a multiple choice test.

"Why is it such bullshit, Harry?" Paul rolled the booklet, and handed it into the hands of Dean.

"Are you kidding me?" Harry slouched over, slurring his words. "This questionnaire is based upon our jobs. They doubt, thinking that we aren't pulling our own weight."

Dean quickly scanned each page in the questionnaire. "Yeah, that's bull."

Paul cleared his throat, "So what else with this questionnaire?" He stared at Harry, putting on the pressure of a quick, yet decent answer. The older officer was disgusted with the situation.

"Paul, we aren't the only ones taking this test…the prisoners are too."

The boss' eyes grew wide.

"Shit," murmured Dean.

Harry shakily took the glasses away from his face, and gently placed them on the desk. He wiped his forehead. "Sir, one wrong answer, and we lose our jobs. There hasn't been much excitement lately, and I guess that it what is concerning them."

"When does it have to be done by?" Paul stood beside Harry, glancing at the stack of papers on the desk.

"Tomorrow," Harry replied, placing his thumbs between his belt and coat. "If we refuse to take the test, they take that into account as unacceptable behavior." Harry sat himself down at the desk, and looked up towards Paul and Dean. His voice cracked. "I'm sorry sir, but I think you should check your bank account at the end of the day."

"Why?" Dean quickly asked with concern. Obviously with a young family, there was a right to be anxious about money.

"You heard on the radio, the stock market crashed," Harry explained. "I checked my accounts, and in less than a week, BAM!" Harry slammed his hand against the table, causing both Paul and Dean to flinch. A tingle ran up his shoulder. "Two hundred and forty seven dollars was withdrawn from my accounts, without my consent."

There was an awkward silence before Harry spoke again. "It is 1930; these are now hard times. We cannot afford to lose our jobs, because if we do, any of us could be homeless. The last thing any of us at Cold Mountain needs is a call to the boss' office, and get the news that we will be let go from our jobs. There is no doubt in my mind that they will dwindle our numbers; and this questionnaire probably determines who is worthy of keeping."

Paul turned towards Dean, who was obviously concerned money wise, and supporting his family; Paul had to occupy his mind somehow. "Mr. Stanton, why don't you go, and get some food for the prisoners. I'm sure they are very hungry."

Dean nodded, and left E block without another word.

Once Dean exited the scene, Paul looked down upon Harry; who had his face buried beneath his hands. Paul scratched his forehead before starting conversation.

"Harry," Paul sat on the edge of the desk. "What's got you down?"

The older officer hesitated to answer.

"Is everything alright?"

Harry slowly shook his head back and forth. He dared not to look at Paul.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

No answer came from Harry; which raised his concern further.

"Come on, Harry. I'm your boss, and I have a right to know what is bothering you at this very moment, so we can accustom to it. No one else is around. As long as we speak quietly, the prisoners won't be able to hear a thing."

Harry withdrew his hands from his face, and stared blankly in the distance. "I'm scared Paul. This economic crisis is worldwide. If nothing is done between our governments, another world war could start. It is not as bad here, but soon I wouldn't be surprised if I find myself on the streets in five years."

Paul shook his head. "Don't think like that Harry, just think about the present; the future means nothing at this point." A hand forcefully slapped against Harry's shoulder blade, and before long, Paul was no longer on the mile.

It was approximately four o'clock in the evening. Both Paul and Dean were almost done their shift, along with Harry almost an hour later. They all discussed the situation about the questionnaire earlier, and wouldn't complete it until they got Brutal's opinion; his were the most honest.

Paul crossed his arms, and leaned against the desk. "So, when is the new offender arriving?"

"Tomorrow," Harry answered. "Hopefully he's a wild one. I got the file at lunch. His name is Fredrick Schnaps, but he prefers Freddie as his nickname; this information was provided in the file by the Warden."

Dean entered the conversation. "Is he a wild one?"

Harry glanced at the file one last time, reading it aloud. "Fredrick Schnaps is convicted of murder. He killed...lots of people. Turns out that he was a part of some environmental activist group; it's the thirties, what's with all of this hooting and hollering? Anyway, that is all the Warden gave me, you will have to check his case file in the morning." Harry closed the book and placed it behind his back. "I don't really want to know how he killed them, but I guess we will see what his personality will reflect."

Paul agreed. "Yeah, we'll see"

"Hey boys," a slurred sentence was spoken. The guards turned their attention to an older, and scruffier looking gentleman. Unlike the others he never took much care of himself, and he wasn't in uniform. Instead, he dragged a food cart around with him.

"Toot," Dean started. "You are here a little early."

"Don't really give a damn, boy." Toot snarled. "This is the last time I'll be coming around the mountain this evening."

Paul bit his tongue. "Toot, you should know better than that. One of our officers hasn't even arrived yet, and you are not going to give him a time of day to eat?"

Toot took a look at Harry, who was prepared to give Toot money for some delicious food lying on top of the cart. "I'll take some crackers." Harry said, waving the money forward.

Toot handed Dean the crackers; too lazy to hand the food towards the paying customer. "Is there anything else?"

Paul searched through his pockets, and took out a handful of currency. He placed it in Toot's hands, and quickly ordered. "Three sandwiches, box of crackers, and a Moon Pie." Without hesitation, the older gentleman snatched the money, and handed the food in less than two minutes. Then without a second thought, he left the scene; beckoning to the whole world that his shift was finally over, and that he could go home to a cell of his own.

Five minutes later, Paul and Dean's shift was over, and it was time to go home. Paul sighed as he turned towards Harry who was still preoccupied with the questionnaire. The inmates were taking their time with it, and it frustrated the guards beyond belief. It had to be turned in by tomorrow morning; a grueling task, but Paul was certain that Brutal would make sure the inmates would get it done before dawn. "Harry, tell Brutal I bought his supper, and that he doesn't have to worry about paying me back. Tell him that Toot was just being a bastard, and came around with the truck early."

Harry nodded, "Got it boss."

It was five-thirty before Brutal showed up, dressed in full uniform with a lunch box in hand. He was approximately six feet tall; towering almost every single co-worker in the prison. He looked menacing, but in reality was just an enormous teddy bear. He only used force when necessary, but his sense of humor was always there to keep everyone's spirits shining brightly. Brutus entered E block, and met Harry inside the office. Again, it was unusually quiet at E block; but it had been like that for the longest time. Despite the crimes that the convicts committed, they were very shy and quiet people.

"Hello, Harry." Brutus entered with a neutral expression.

"Good evening Brutal."

"What's wrong?" Brutal continued with his soft, yet rough voice.

"You've got a questionnaire waiting for you."

"Questionnaire," Before Brutal could protest, a large booklet was thrown in his face, "What for?"

"You have to finish it before tomorrow. There are two more on the desk. The prisoners have to fill it out too. Fill it out carefully, and tell us what your opinion is in the morning. We've already completed, or are close to completing the booklet. You and that floater might be bored tonight, so this homework might come in handy." Harry stood up, grabbing the jacket of his uniform from his chair. He gathered folders from earlier; ready to take the evening off, and leave E block in the hands of the second in command.

"I'll take a look at it."

"Read it carefully," Harry quickly answered Brutal's statement. "And complete it carefully. This may cost us our jobs, and in the wake of a recession, we cannot afford that." After his short lecture, Harry brushed past Brutus, heading out the door; slamming it shut, leaving the guard alone in the office waiting for the floater, and dreading a long graveyard shift.

Chapter two is next...