Hey, everyone, welcome to my new one shot, Feathers. Its basically parts of the book in a nut shell, but in Max's perspective. I hope you like, review, favourite, follow. And please check out my fan fic Forgotten, it's based of a book called the Keeper of the lost Cities. Read the book! It's amazing! Anyways, I hope you enjoy.
Max lay on the cold stone floor, the world shifting above him. In the basement of 33 Himmel Street, Max was alone, in a world by himself. Outside, wind blew and snow fell. It was a cold world. But not only the temperature- the personality. The personality of the world felt cold sometimes. Cold enough to follow such a man. Hitler. The Fuhrer. One simple man that made himself known, one man who used his words, his mouth to change people. Words to destroy a human spirit. Words to incite hatred. One man, used his words to divide a nation. And it wasn't fair.
A Jew, that's what he was. A piece of Jewish filth. He was voiceless among a nation of people who hated him, people who weren't like him. Invisable, you might put it. Alone. Max wanted more than anything to speak, and for people to listen. And he had found a way. Painting over the pages of his only book, Max wrote stories, his story. And there was finally someone to listen.
The cold concrete bit into Max's back, as he folded his thin arms behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, as it stared back unmoved, cold and white. With only his paint cans to befriend and his old flat mattress, Max stayed silent. He watched the creases in the painted ceiling, hoping they might find some form of entertainment. He was waiting. Waiting for her. The girl. Liesel, Max thought Liesel. The girl he had entrusted his words to, his story. She was not not cold at all. She was warm and bright, like the sun. Like the sun she had reported to him that May. Like her description of the tight rip cloud- sunny and bright.
Max wanted her to come home from school, in her usual excited mood. He would listen to her day and they would talk. That was by far the most interesting part of the day, when he was with Liesel. So he watched the ceiling, and lay on the cold floor, and waited for the small thin girl, the book thief, to come home.
He didn't know how long he had lay down until he had fallen asleep.
"Max," he heard as his eyes fluttered open "Max?"
"Liesel," he said as he saw the girl.
Messy blonde hair and beautiful brown eyes. Like him. She stared at him with grateful eyes.
The girl knelt down and handed him the newspaper.
"The crossword is empty, Max," she said and he took it.
"Thank you," he replied.
The Book thief had something in her hand; Max recognized the crooked pages and messy ink instantly. It was his book, The Standover Man. The book he had made for Liesel on her birthday.
Liesel touched his short cropped hair. Hair like feathers, she had once said.
They talked a long while, Liesel reading Max's book, Max finishing his crossword.
"Is it true?" She said as she held the mangled pages out to him "What you said about me?"
Max stared into Liesel's wondering eyes and spoke: "Every word."
Take it...
I won't leave you here...
Go, find this man, then you'll be safe...
I won't leave you...
Go...
Max woke up with a start, gasping in frozen air. It was a blustering night, the cold seeping into the mattress and the thin blankets. Max shivered against the frozen sheets as he stared into the dark of the basement. He could make out the silhouettes of paint cans and drop sheets, but all else was black.
The rough springs of the mattress tore at his feathery hair, but he was too cold to care. He wondered what Liesel was doing. Maybe she was reading with her Papa, or sleeping soundly in her bed. He shivered back against his mattress. Max had been dreaming. About leaving his family, the same dream every time, leaving and taking the address that saved his life. Except every time it was the same. He never wanted to leave. And he never got to say goodbye.
Meanwhile, in a room upstairs, a small girl was writing. Writing for a Jew. Writing for her friend. She wrote until the late hours of the morning, and when she finally hit her head against her pillow, she wondered what her friend was doing. Still awake, in the cold basement below, Max was wondering the exact same thing.
She came early, when only some light was leaked into the basement. Her shadow danced on the plain walls as Max sleepily opened his eyes.
"Liesel?" He whispered propping his head up on his elbow.
"Max," she answered and dropped something by his mattress.
"What is it?" He said squinting to make out the small package.
"Something I wrote, because you wrote to me."
Then she mounted the stairs and disappeared to the upper floor. Max, still fazed, collapsed back onto his bed and fell back asleep.
The package was a book. It was a small book, but still a book. The title page was of two birds, one a small thin bird. Its feathers were falling out. Liesel had wrote on the front: Feathers - the many stories of a small thin bird. It contained all Liesel's favourite memories, written and illustrated with detail. Max read about when Rudy covered himself with charcoal and ran track. When Liesel scored her winning goal. When she was Max's weatherman. Max thumbed through the pages, devouring Liesel's every word. The last page was about her and Max. About how Max had shared with her the power of words, how the connection between them was more powerful than words could express. About how through thick and thin, Max would always be her friend. She wrote friend in big capital letters, and drew a two small people. One was Liesel. One was Max.
Dear Max, it said. Ever since we met, the power of words has connected us. We both know how powerful they are, and what they did to our lives. We both know how powerless someone can be WITHOUT words. Thank you for showing me the power words can have, and thank you for being such a good friend. I hope that through thick and thin, we can stick together. Love, Liesel
Max looked up. Liesel was climbing down the stairs. She witnessed him close the book for the fourth time.
"Hi Max." She said.
"Hi Liesel."
The bombs hit so forcefully, Max thought that there was no way. He heard them from far away, he had no idea how hard they would have hit in Molching. No way she could have survived. He knew that if he escaped he was going to find her. Because deep down, a strong feeling said she couldn't be dead. She couldn't be dead, she couldn't be dead, she couldn't be dead. He was going to find her. Through thick and thin, that's what she had said. And he was pretty sure that if she was still alive, she would be thinking the same thing.
"Is there someone here by the name of Liesel Meminger?"
Max was hopeful, but he had to be sure.
"She's in the back," someone said "May I ask who is calling her?"
Liesel ran out, and spotted Max. His chest heaved, a huge relief flying off his chest. She ran to him and embraced him, bursting into tears.
"Liesel," Max said
"Is it really you? Is it from your cheek that I took the seed?"
"It is." he said, reaching into his bag and pulling out the book. The book young Liesel had made for him so long ago.
The book that symbolized their friendship and their love for each other.
In return, Liesel went into the back room, and brought out the two books. The Standover Man and The Word Shaker. His books. He ran a hand over the aged pages. It was so long ago...
They hugged for a long time.
When they let go, Liesel ran a hand through his hair. Hair like feathers, was what she thought.
And Max knew it.
I love the part in the bool where Max and Liesel reunite! It's so touching! Anyone? Yeah? Nay? Pm me if you have any comments, or one shot requests! Bye for now! ;)