I don't own the characters, and the excerpt of The Last Human Stranger (first paragraph written like this) is by Markus Zusak, too.
For information, this story sets in November 1943, one month after the bombing of Himmel Street.
Anyway, my inspiration was the song Louise by Eisblume. Don't ask why. I don't know. I heard it, and this story came to my mind. Hope you like it.
Tears
Heaven was crying, when Liesel walked down Goethe Street.
People with umbrellas were marching beside her. Liesel didn't know where they were going, and she didn't want to. It didn't matter.
She had no umbrella.
There were people everywhere on the city street, but the stranger could not have been more alone if it had been empty.
Dead words…
Liesel passed a lonely rubbish bin.
Not even three years ago she would have dived deep into it to find a creased Molchinger Abendblatt.
She would have laughed and brought it Max, in the basement.
Max was gone.
Probably he wouldn't return ever. But maybe…
Hope is such a cruel thing.
Anyway, the basement was gone, too.
There wasn't much traffic in Himmel Street.
Sometimes Liesel would come here and stand in front of Number 33, as she did now.
The corpses were buried, the houses were not.
Although they were as dead as their former owners.
The stones of some ones were used to repair other houses.
They weren't buried, not at all.
A few ruins were still standing.
It was raining.
Himmel Street was flooded.
By memories.
And tears.
Saumensch, du blödes. Stop that crying!
But Liesel couldn't. She could just reach into her pocket and look at it.
It was no handkerchief. Not at all.
It was a photography. Black and white.
A boy was smiling.
Liesel closed her eyes.
She couldn't bear that smile any longer.
She felt the rain on her face.
Cooling. Mixed with her own tears.
Why did he have to die? Why?
Why is he dead and I'm not? He deserved life more then me.
Why is Rudy Steiner dead?
Yeah, why?
The guilt of being alive. She could understand Max now.
Liesel started shivering. Not because of the rain.
The coldness lay deep in her heart.
She wanted to tear it out.
Feel warmth again.
By bombs?
Oh, had I died in Himmel Street!
How she wished that. Hardly.
All night.
And since October 7, the night hadn't come to an end.
She took a deep breath.
Calm down.
Yeah, you're still alive, and he's not. Make the best of it.
She opened her eyes again.
Rudy was crying, too.
Black tears.
They were licking his face. Erasing it.
I'm sorry, Saumensch.
It seemed like he wanted to say that.
His face was regret.
Then it ran, like the ink it was made of.