The Long Walk

by Stephen King

Garraty breathed deep of the spring air. It would be warm. A good day to walk.

Garraty watched apathetically and thought, even the horror wears thin. There’s a surfeit even of death.

With no friends you had no grief.

The knowledge of death, as true and unarguable as a photograph, was trying to get in and swamp him. Trying to paralyze him.