The Green Mile and The Reporter

Warden Moores

Come on Argy. It's not so bad. What could possibly go wrong? I thought to myself as I scraped my feet along the rutted dirt road, the sound of the prison becoming steadily louder.

My satchel was digging into my shoulder and there were trickles of itchy sweat running down my back from the stifling October heat. Strands of my frizzy red hair had escaped my high ponytail and stuck to my neck and face, I brushed them away with a grimace. The cuffs of my slightly oversized overalls were dusty from scraping against the dirt, but I didn't bother to pause to roll them up, again.

The winding road took me past the prison yard and among the guards yelled commands, prisoners grunts and the rhythmic sound of pickaxes I made out low catcalls. Though I was wearing my brothers handy downs, apparently my hair was enough to give me away. Get used to it Argonne. Get used to it.

The guards at the inner gate looked me up and down, murmuring to each other in confusion. I sighed before turning to the one who seemed the most authoritative. "Argonne Flick, sir, from the Daily Times."

The tall looked down on my five-foot-nothingness with a raised eyebrow. "You're the reporter?"

"Yes, sir."

He grunted and began walking off. I followed, practically jogging to keep up with his long, brisk stride.  It wasn't long before he pretty much shoved me into the Prison Warden's office. I quickly scanned the gleaming name plate on the front of the desk. Hal Moores. The man the name belonged to was older and looked as though he'd had a great deal of stress in his life, but there was a steely, determined glint in his eye that I found both admirable and terrifying at the same time.

Warden Moores stood and held out a shaking hand. I was worried I was going to injure him if I gripped to hard but his hand clasped mine firm enough to almost, but not quite, hurt. "Miss Argonne Flick from the Daily Times if I'm not mistaken?"

I tried my best to sound professional. "That's correct Warden. A pleasure to meet you."

He let go and shoved his strong, shaking hands into his pants pockets. His tone was almost judgmental. "Have you ever been at a prison Miss Flick? Worked at one or even visited one?"

I pursed my lips, already feeling incompetent. "No, sir, this is my first time."

"And yet you're covering E block, where our very worst prisoners wait for Old Sparky."

I nodded. "I like my job. It sent me here to cover my own column on Death Row, so here I am."

Warden Moores marched past me and I was once again being dragged through the prison with my legs struggling to keep up. "So you're here for your job."

I tried not to let my irritation deep into my tone. "As are you Warden. Depressions tend to make people cling to their jobs even harder than usual."

Warden Moores glanced at me over his shoulder, almost appraisingly. "What exactly are you going to cover down at the Green Mile?"

There it was. The question I'd been dreading. "Guards, inmates, events... pretty much anything the public would seem interested in."

He stopped in front of a large iron door, and turned to me. "Answer me this Miss Flick, answer true if you will. Why the Green Mile?"

I met his eyes and swallowed against the dryness in my mouth. "Everyone forgets about these people. They do something awful enough to warrant the death penalty and the whole world gasps, but then the world simply forgets about them. Maybe they'll look up from the paper and tell they're spouse that 'that nasty man finally walked the mile' or maybe they won't, but no one cares about the in between. Or about the guards who watched these lunatics. Or whether or not the criminal feels sorry for what he's done, not that it makes a difference, but isn't it worth at least a mention?"

The warden was quiet for a moment. "Miss Flick, perhaps the world wants to forget," he unlocked the door to E block. "But I'll leave that up to you. After all it's your job, not mine."

A/N- Heylo! Thank you for reading Greenies! Please comment so I can try to be less terrible at this!