A/N: Thank you for reading. I don't own the Book Thief (I'm crying even now). This is just a short angsty one shot I wrote while inspired. Reviews much appreciated. Enjoy!
Dear Nobody.
No. You're not nobody. You were never were nobody.
You used to be somebody, a person. Just like I was. I had a name; so did you. But that's not all you were.
You were a giver of teddy bears. You were Jesse Owens, and by God, I swear you could beat him in a race if you tried. You were the apple thief. And the bread giver. And the boy with lemon hair. You were everything. Everything.
But most of all, you were Rudy. My saukerl.
They always told me I was good with words. So many times have I been told a word, a sound, a syllable, and I would lock it away in my mind like a precious piece of gold. Words used to be delicious secrets that only I knew. I don't know why. Maybe because no one else stopped to listen to them. So they became mine. They were the stories time forgot, worn and discarded like a smoker's concrete lungs.
And maybe I am good with words. I don't know anymore. Because everything is gone. All the words in the world disappeared with you, and Mama and Papa. There's no gold left. No accordion lungs. There's no you.
They told me to write a letter. They told me to make new words. They told me to start again. Fools. They don't get it. I like to think that if you were still here with me, you would understand. God, I wish you were here.
It is quite odd, finally writing again. My fingers are bleeding ink as I trace empty markings onto the crusty, yellow page. I write this in the back on my little black book, you know the one. There was some space left. Sooner better than later, right? You always believed that anyway.
So what can I say? What the hell do I say?
I miss you.
I miss you so damn much. I miss your stupid, smug face and your Hitler Youth eyes and your yellow hair. I miss your rough, scratched hands and your muddy knees. I miss your lips that would just spread like wings into that wonderful grin. I even miss your, 'How about a kiss, saumensch?'
I'm trying to live now. It's what Papa would have wanted. I help at your father's shop. He's alive, and he misses you so very much. He loves you, Rudy. If only you knew. I take each day as it comes and deal with everything accordingly. I wait for the day everything will just disappear, and be all right again. When will it come, Rudy? It won't come.
It used to be worse. I used to sit by my window and watch the seasons pass by in their beautiful new gowns of green and yellow and blue. I'd watch the crystal beads of rain fall defeatedly from an oblivion of purple-grey and listen to the thunder sing its cracked glass song. I watched Molching as if I were an outsider: not quite alive and yet not lucky enough to be resting among the raindrop earth.
And I haven't 'borrowed' a book in so very long.
Do you remember The Whistler? Of course you do. It was the day you nearly froze. To this day, it is still beyond me how anyone could be idiotic enough to leap into a frosty, December river. I also don't know anyone who would be so selfless as to do that. And you did. But you were stupid like that. I remember that day. I wish I had finally given you your wish. I wish I had stolen your lips like those books, like you had stolen me.
But I didn't. I didn't steal a kiss until your bomb-bruised lips were far beyond the capability of feeling anything. I waited too long, far too long.
They all want me to grow up now. I'm sort of stuck in limbo, and for all the world, I cannot claw my way out. I still want to steal apples and race in the street and hate the Fuhrer with you. But you left me. You left me and now I don't know where I am. I feel like blind man; I feel like someone is holding me under water and I'm suffocating. Like I can see the world through a blurry sheet of water but can't quite reach it. Everything is numb, and yet it's like a kick in the ribs every time I wake up, like my lungs are constricted with barbed wire - you know, the one that Herr Hitler likes so much. You've wounded me. You stupid arschloch.
I've never really believed in an afterlife. Who did? It was a story to tell children when their Grandpa Joey died. It was something we never really think about until we're there, trapped in the middle of it with no way of going back. I'd like to believe you're in Himmel, real Himmel, not just our old street. I hope you're happy, where you are.
I want to hate you so much. I wish I could hate you for abandoning me in this goddamn stupid world. Just hate you and get on with my life knowing that I can live without you.
But I loved you.
I still love you.
Oh God, I love you.
Did you know that?
I hope you did. I really want to believe that you did. That you do, wherever you are.
Wait for me, saukerl.
Lots of love, from Nobody.