I don't own the Green Mile

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Brutus vs Freddie Part 2:

The next day was beyond bearable. It was eerie and strange not to have Alex crawling between the bars. It felt vague and empty. Even the weather was gloomy; there was nothing, but clouds covering the sky. Brutal wouldn't be surprised if it rained that evening.

Leaning against what was Alex's cell, Brutus lit a cigarette. He never smoked, until today. You could say he was a recreational smoker, usually on days of pure celebration; though today was nowhere close to the word "celebration" and its meaning. He was just smoking to calm his body and mind. He felt empty inside, just like Alex's cell. After putting the body away, it was hard to say goodbye; or even believe that they are actually dead. You feel as if you have to convince yourself that the dead will stay dead, and will not journey home back into your care.

In the mile, Dean sat at the desk, filing some quick paperwork. Brutus slightly smiled, as he watched his friend work quickly. Dean rolled his eyes upward, meeting Brutal's smirk. Dean scoffed, "Aren't you going to do something?"

Brutus shook his head. "Not today. Actually, I'm going to watch my good friend, Freddie over here."

"Oh, I see," Dean stated sarcastically. "And what are you doing? You don't smoke! I've never seen you with a lighter and cigar in hand."

Brutus ignored Dean's last statement, and glanced at Freddie's cell. Freddie's ankles were chained to the bars of the cell. He was in a sitting position with a paper and what looked like charcoal in hand. Freddie didn't like or appreciate art, but he didn't mind creating some of his own. And from what Brutus could see, he wasn't that bad of an artist. Unfortunately, most of his pieces were dark, and gloom. Brutus drew another puff of smoke.

Freddie felt as if eyes were on him; and they were. He glanced up towards Brutus and smiled. "Good morning. Do you want to talk?"

Brutus smirked, "Why would you think that?"

The convict shrugged his shoulders. "Because," he briefly paused, "You look as if you have something to say to me, but are too scared. What are you afraid of; that I might taint your pure soul with my utter genius?"

"No," Brutus quickly replied. "Well, yes, actually. I was just curious…" Brutus trailed off, but Freddie gestured for him to continue. "I've read your profile several times, and I just want to know your story. You are a genius with the mind. How on Earth did you not use your gift for good use?"

Freddie chuckled slightly, "I did put it to good use. I killed at least 60 people."

"How on Earth" –

Freddie shoved the charcoal and paper aside, "Would you care to listen to a wonderful story; my story?"

Brutus nodded with hesitation.

"Okay," Freddie nodded in return.

They fell simultaneously against the cold, hard ground. It was spring time. The grass was a rich and vivid green, and there was dampness in the air. It was a spring afternoon full of blood and silent terror. The many bodies shook upon the ground, until they moved no more; their life sucked dry. But they weren't ordinary fellow; they were strange, strange people. The towns' folk described them as activists, fighting for what they believed in; whether it would be animal cruelty, women's rights, or environmental issues. It was the ladder, except the group's views were controversial. Their sights wouldn't benefit towards modern society. For example, the protesters wouldn't defend the forest; instead, they would attempt to become the forest spiritually. Along their many endeavors, they were trying to recruit others into the cult. I don't pray, so I wouldn't understand in the slightest, but common sense would state that their campaign was utterly useless and wasn't valuable towards current civilization. Stating that fact, common sense was hard to find nowadays.

I stood on an apple carton under a small tent. Everyone else was in the sunlight, lying motionless upon the ground. I scanned each body from where I stood, pondering to myself. There were at least seventy activists in the area, all of which fought for their beliefs. It was hard to comprehend for my taste. Approximately half an hour earlier, there was a rally; and once upon a time, there was a meeting. It was a gathering that I accidentally came across in my travels. As I attended, I noticed that they were a little unorganized and that they didn't have a leader. They were just a large group of civilians with a mere idea.

That was when I took one step forward. I attended the meeting, listening to every worthless piece of crap that escaped their lips, but I didn't argue. I placed my name in the hat, and before dawn I was elected leader. The public loved me.

I'm a small guy. I'm short, slim, and have little to no muscle, let alone bone. I'm challenged physically, but strong mentally. I possessed a great mind, but people eventually grew distant towards me. One spat, saying that I had a prodigious mind, yet a dangerous one; I was too young and naïve to understand what he meant. As weeks went by, I led these poor men and women down the road to success, to happiness and to freedom of will. They all put their trust in me without a second thought, believing that the world would change in their favour. The innocence, thoughts, and ideas, became my property.

But today was the finale, the final idea that was to be put into action. There was no preparation on their part, only mine. I didn't want to get the government involved; I could care less. Yes, I could care less about their ideals. I grew extremely tired over the past few days, and needed to rid these people from my backs. You see, I knew this chemist. Conveniently, he lived in the very city I resided in. I wanted the result to be clean and an act of free will. The chemist gave me botulinum; the deadliest poison known to man. It is said that one gram could kill 80,000 people. It was tasteless, odorless, and anyone could prepare it. However, it was useless around oxygen, so major preparations were in order.

After a long speech about the protestors' vague thoughts about freedom and versatility towards their petty environment, I somehow managed to convince them that one's life was a powerful and destructive weapon of manipulation; and that their lives were a major part in this campaign. They, along with me, would infect us with poison; in high hopes that the government and authorities would finally listen to our messages and put them into action. Well, I didn't say "hope". If the many people were truly committed to their "strong" opinions, they would commit the act, not just for themselves, but for society.

We chanted obnoxiously. Once finished our barbarian hymn, we all drank the poison as one, except me. I simply tilted back and threw the botulinum over my shoulder. It took no more than ten seconds before every individual started feeling the effects. Some passed out seconds after they swallowed. Others choked on their own vomit. The protesters were suffering, and their suffering didn't affect me in the slightest. It was interesting how their misery was my source of entertainment; call me a sick mind. The bodies lay side by side, one on top of the other; it was finished. The only survivor, me, was bored again.

A quick question entered my mind, "Should I stay here, or go? And if I leave, where will I go?" I stood erect on that apple carton longer than usual. A couple of farmers arrived with their pitchforks and rifles.

"What's going on?" One farmer started, staring upon the multiple bodies. "What the hell happened?"

I thought for a moment before speaking, "These poor people. They were environmental protestors. They talked nonsense. Believe me, I'm just an innocent bystander."

"You didn't answer his question," the other farmer interrupted my speech, "he asked you what happened, not their life stories."

I raised my hands in surrender. "They committed suicide. They poisoned themselves with botulinum."

"Are you with them?"

"Yes," I answered in a haze.

"Then why aren't you dead too?" There was a slight pause, "They all killed themselves for a reason, so why aren't you dead too?"

Suspicions rose, and I soon found myself pinned against a tree by two big officers. They shackled my wrists and took me away, convicting me of murder.

It was an unfortunate event, really. My brilliant mind did not convince the judge and the jury of my innocence. It was obvious that my lawyer was against me. I was a disgusting man in their eyes, but how could I be guilty of murder? I didn't touch those people; they died by their own hand, their own free will. Each one drank their vial without hesitation.

When the last minute of court was in session, the ruthless judge slammed in mallet in conclusion, sentencing me to death by the electric chair. So I sat in my cell one grim Tuesday afternoon; a plate of food was beside by bed. I tapped my fingers against the wall, thinking about the provocative situation. The only bonus from the brutal crime was the adrenaline rush; the sensation was uplifting. I wasn't sorry for that, I wasn't sorry at all. The death of each individual activist was enriching…what an oxymoron.

I needed something to do, some sort of entertainment to keep my mind occupied. Reaching into my pocket, I grabbed a small vial I liked to call death, but technically speaking, was known as botulinum. Security at the prison was too ignorant to even bother searching my clothes; lucky me, it was sarcasm at its finest. I shook the vial back and forth, contemplating several times, but eventually making a final verdict.

"I'm curious."

"I guess this is what happens when you play with a dangerous mind," Freddie concluded, with the vial of poison in his hand. Brutus couldn't believe his eyes. How did that small vial get past the guards? They searched his body several times, only to come up empty. "Would you like some?"

Brutus shook his head, "No, but give it to me."

Reluctantly, Freddie handed Brutus the vial of poison into the guard's empty hand.

"Were you going to use this against me?"

"No, no," lied Freddie. "I have a question of my own," Freddie continued the conversation.

Brutal was all ears.

"Can we continue our old conversation…from the other day?"

"Our conversation," Brutus stated in confusion. He shifted his eyes from side to side.

"Something tells me that you were a bully back in High School."

Brutus took a deep breath, and conflicted with himself. Was he to answer this question? If he did, would he be able to recover from Freddie's schemes. There was only on way to find out.

"I was," Brutal answered, "Among many in my High School."

"Why?" Freddie questioned once again.

"Peer pressure," was his reply.

"Because you were from the football team; you were popular?" added Freddie.

Brutal stared at the ground momentarily and took in another puff of smoke. "You could say that. I was friends with many on the football team. But one in particular did not please us."

"Oh?" Freddie's ears perked. "Was he small?"

"Yeah," Brutal's spoke in a quiet tone. "Yes he was. Weak, and he did not deserve to be on the football team."

A sleek smile bore across Freddie's face. "Something terrible happened, didn't it?"

Brutal tapped the end of his cigarette. "Yeah, something happened. My friends and I beat the shit out of him, every single day. Some of the boys spread rumours, others embarrassed the poor lad. I was a bystander some days, but that doesn't excuse me from my own crimes that I committed." Brutal took a deep breath, and thought to himself.

Freddie continued the conversation, "Then one day, it stopped. What happened to the poor boy?"

Brutal choked. "He couldn't take the abuse any longer. He convinced himself that he was to blame for our actions against him."

Freddie's curiosity got the best of him, "How did he do it?"

Brutal was disgusted, "He blew his brains out."

Freddie mocked Brutal's pained expression, "How could you do such a thing?"

Brutus tossed the end of the cigarette onto the ground; his mighty boot crashed down on the piece of rolled paper, "That's why I deemed to never use my strength against someone, unless completely necessary. To answer your previous question, I didn't join the mile because I needed a job, I signed up for this job, because I didn't want to judge; I didn't want to hurt. I believe now that everybody deserves a second chance; and mine was the mile. I'm truly blest." Brutal coughed before concluding, "Are you happy now?"

Brutus left the scene. He'd left valuable information into the hands of a monster. He wasn't sure what Freddie would do with that information, but the future was no longer Brutal's concern.

And Freddie was satisfied.

Chapter 13 is next...