At first I want to thank you for all your nice reviews. You are awesome!
This is a second story for you. It's again about Max and Liesel.(A little translation: Seine Haare sind wie Federn means His hair is like feathers.) Hope you ll like it.
Haare Wie Federn
Himmel Street slept. All of them but one.
Make no mistake. It wasn't raining. It wasn't October 7 1943. It's time would come, but now it was just a cold night in February 1941.
And they all slept. Mama and Papa in their bed. Liesel, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.
The fire was almost down and it's light framed her face. She looked so beautiful. Her hair was shimmering. Her eyes were closed. Her knees were draw up. Her arms were crossed in her lap.
She was resting her heart. Making it ready for the next day.
It was a deep sleep, calm.
No Nightmares.
Tonight her dreams were made of a hug. A beginning friendship.
Liesel Meminger was asleep, and she would sleep until the next morning, not knowing that she was watched.
By a shadow.
The person opposite.
He wasn t asleep. He couldn t. He could just watch. And think.
Unluckily for him. His thoughts didn t allowed him to sleep. And so he watched. Her. The girl with the shimmering hair.
He was awake and watched her sleeping.
When he closed his eyes he saw her smile. The most beautiful smile ever.
And he could hear her words with every breath she took. Like the melody of an accordion.
Seine Haare sind wie Federn.
He could hear it very often.
And he felt her. Deep in his heart. Hiding. With crossed legs. She came to stay.
He thought of her arms. Holding him.
Danke, Max.
Thanks for what? For having no present for you?
Everytime he thought of it he was dying.
Max Vandenburg died very often this night.
After all he managed to stand up. With a last glance he left the room. Left her.
Watcherless.
He lay awake in the basement. Alone. With his thoughts. An unpleasant guest.
She gave me so much. For nothing.
That was one.
Another one.
I have to give her something back.
The next.
But how?
Max Vandenburg didn't lie this night.
And again and again her words in his mind.
They were killing him better than a gun.
He was very desperate. He sighed. Turned his head. Saw her words.
Then a thought like a flash.
He had an idea.
He sat up.
When I don't have anything to give, why shouldn't I make something?
He was hardly thinking.
That's silly.
But it could work.
He stood up. A plan was made.
I'll tell her a story she'd never heard before.
A special book, only for her.
He took Mein Kampf.
I can paint these pages white. And then draw something different on it.
So this rubbish has an use after all. Who would have thought.
Yes, that works!
A moment of worry.
But why should she like it?
He shook his head.
She will. She loves books, remember?
A thing is sure.
She loved his book.
Because it was made by love.
His plan was ready and he wanted to start immediately. He had just one problem.
What's the story about?
He damned it and started thinking again. But he didn't had to think long.
Her words caught him.
And then he started to work, creating a book called Der Ueberstehmann or The Standover Man. A book about the friendship between a German and a Jew, written on the pages from the most anti-Semitic man ever.
It was a special book, only for Liesel Meminger. A birthday gift from Max.
In this cold February night Max stood smiling in the basement, painting the first pages white and imagining a special girl looking at the painted birds.
Thanks to a sentence of hers.
He whispered her words.
Seine Haare sind wie Federn.