In the movies, salvation is cheap. So is innocence. You pay a quarter, and a quarter’s worth is just what you get. Real life costs more, and most of the answers are different.

You see, Stephen King had written a lot of horror stories and awful characters who behave awfully and do awful things. But I, perhaps genuinely, believe that his heart and his logic stay in the correct place. King is a good man. A good old man, now. And even if you, the readers, question it, at least it was reflected in "The Green Mile" clear as a day. As a movie shot in 4K.

The movie adaptation was awesome and a classic of its own, but it doesn't have the same vulnerability and frailty the novel's narrative possesses since it's supposed to be told personally by Paul Edgecombe during his grotesquely old age. I think I can see Paul's spotted hand shakes with small tremors every time he touches the tip of his father's fountain pen to his stacks of paper, writing the story of his much, much younger days. And oh how this book ended up keeping me awake all night long. Crying about the characters, the good and the bad ones, agonizing how even the best of people, the most favorite of people still can have a terrible, terrible death. I was up all night thinking about them and their own thoughts. About life. About living. About death. About aging. About dying.

There is no ghost in "The Green Mile". No evil supernatural being does their wicked evil things to people. This novel tells a story about God's gift to humanity, a miracle. But still, it haunts me everywhere all the same.

Please, dear Mr. King.
Please stay as one of the good ones till the end.

We had once again succeeded in destroying what we could not create.