~* WHAT I DIDN'T TELL YOU BEFORE *~

Rudy Steiner's soul put up a fight

I came across very few of these in all of my time. I am sure that I will not see many more of them. It takes something really special to resist my cold fingers.

Something like love.

Something like regret.

After taking the sister that had been sharing his bed, and the rest of the family in the warm room, I hesitated above him. He was dead, there was no mistaking. The only survivor of that bombing had been a thirteen year old girl who had, by some chance, been reading in the basement.

His soul remained lying down, but not in reluctance. In defiance. I attempted to snag him gently in my fingers, but he pulled away.

When a soul pulls away, rare as it is, it usually means they will try to run. Usually, they are the ones who are afraid of me.

Not Rudy. He was curious, his soul-eyes wide with wonder. He looked around the room before peering at the dark street. I knew what he was looking for. I knew that it was buried under rubble, but still alive. Then he nodded to himself and turned to face me.

I can remember the way that the fingers of his soul caressed each of the items – no, people – in my embrace. I can remember the way his lemon yellow hair had shone even in the ruin. I can remember his voice as he formed the words, on lips that would not feel when Liesel finally kissed them.

"No."

~* THE TRUTH *~

I did not want to take him

I never do want to take the innocent ones. But he was different. He needed to stay behind. But, being Death means that you have to take those who don't want to come. So I scooped him up and left the house. He did not attempt to escape this time. He was no coward.

Liesel. Liesel. His soul whispered, just like Hans Hubbermann's would when I came to him further along the ruined street. When I looked into his soul, I could see a boy standing waist-deep in an icy, decemberish river. He picked up a sodden, sorry looking book with a smile. The Whistler. I could feel his hope and his freezing, freezing cold as he said:

"How about a kiss, Saumensch?"

This would not have made any sense to me if I hadn't read it all in the Book Thief's book. But I had read it, so before I stopped to pick up the soul of the Hubbermanns I made sure to look up at the sky. Because you never knew, in 1943, what colour would be hanging there.

~* A REMINDER *~

At the beginning of this story, I told you that my favourite death sky was chocolate coloured

I would have liked to say that his sky was black, because of his dream and alter-ego, Jesse Owens. But it was so much better than that. It was the best sky for a boy who had managed to make Death cry.

Rudy's sky was chocolate brown, because he was thinking of the colour of Liesel's eyes.