Disclaimer I don't own the Book Thief. Markus Zusak does. Enjoy.

I walk steadily down the German street trying not to think about the bodies that surely lain there two years earlier. If there were people in this deserted street, they would have definitely wondered why a Jew, such as myself. Would be walking so near to the place of his tortuous imprisonment.

'Why' they would be whisper behind their blood stained hands. Why had had this one Jew come back to the place that he should avoid? Well this Jew's name is Max. And he is here all because of Liesel Meminger.

Liesel was the Word Shaker, the Book Thief and my friend. She was the reason I was here in more ways than one. The first reason was that I heard a rumour that a girl with an accordion survived the Munich bombing and I've come to see if it is hopefully true. The second reason is that without Liesel I would of never have of survived Dachau.

Dachau the mere thought of the place puts shivers down my spine, which have nothing to do with the cold. Without Liesel I doubt I would of survived the time I spent in that hellhole with my life or my sanity intact. It was her act of as my Standover Man that saved me. During the period of which I slept I could hear her reading. It was a beautiful thing hearing that timid voice stumble her way through the German language.

She saved me there by keeping me hanging off her every word and away from deaths awaiting hands. While in Dachau I remembered these stories and often was lost in the light of them and away from the darkness of reality. What else could you do when you are living in a nightmare instead of dreaming it?

So lost I was in my thoughts I didn't even realise I was now standing right in front of the tailor shop Liesel was said to be working at. Taking a deep breath I step onto the front porch and place my hand on the cold hard brass knob tighten my fingers just about to turn when suddenly…

'What if it's not her' my heart stops as my scarred fingers slip from the handle.

'What if it was just a scared Jewish girl adopting a false identity to hide from the past.' I ask these questions to myself as hopelessness bubbles in my chest.

'What if she's dead?' My eyes itch uncomfortably but I make no move to scratch them, as I trace the aged grooves of the handle. Brown, I observed was the colour of the ball. Brown like mud or dirt but if you look underneath the dust there was a sparkling gold, more precious than all the jewels in the world. It was this that reminded me of Liesel's eyes and how they used to glow with joy when they saw me.

This vision made me tighten my resolve and my grip on the door handle. With this new found hope I push open the door, walk to the counter and said the words I've been practising ever since I first heard the news of the girl with the accordion.

'Is there someone here by the name of Liesel Meminger?'

So good, what do you think please review? GeenieMac