Author's Note: This is just something I thought of after I finished the Book Thief, I am pretty sure I will write another chapter about what happens when Rudy comes back because I wish he had lived Liesel has lost enough. For those of you who love Max sorry I killed him but it was a live for a live. I hope you like it.

Liesel's feet slide across the ground, silent, the air pulls at her hair and dances along her collar bone, I don't think she has ever seen herself as anything but the little girl she was. I don't think she can see herself as anyone except the girl who fell in love with a lemon haired boy. It has been 3 years since the end of the world, she goes to school and she has friends, they know nothing, to them she is the daughter of Ilsa. She remembers, she doesn't let is leave her. She is still the girl of darkness; she is still what he labeled her, the book thief. She doesn't steal as she did when she was younger, but she remembers and she would do it again. Only if he was with her, but he is not so she won't. Why hasn't he come back? Does he no longer remember her as she does him? That seems unlikely, but she doesn't know for sure and doubt is her constant companion in the pattern her life has taken. She lives with her eyes closed doing what she must everyday in a constant pattern; she no longer needs to think. And yet she senses a change coming some part of her is telling her that soon something will wake her up. I hope that it comes soon, I watch as she grows closer to me every day, dying not of body but of spirit there is nothing to hold her as there was before. Only the thought that he might not be with me keeps her bound to the living. It is cruel but there is nothing I can do. I know something she does not, he remembers her and he is coming but as we know life tends to get in the way of such things.

She keeps walking, tonight is warm and school will be out soon. She has decided that summer is the worst, although her mind sleeps through her life, school at least keeps her body awake. With summer there is an absence of pattern, and it is then that everybody notices how completely cut off she has become. Tonight she will go to the Amper River, she walks to the shore looking down into the dark water as if she expects to see him standing there, waist deep in its waters. She sits down, leaning against the trunk of a large tree. It is taller and wider that all the rest along this stretch of the river, at the thought of this other memories play in her head. A word shaker and the power of words, a jew and the joy of a friend. Max is gone, not that she had ever expected to see him again and yet it is just the fact of another death. Is there anyone left who would remember soccer games on Himmel Street? Anyone who would remember the readings of a small girl in the stiff air of the air raid shelters? Is there anyone anywhere? And what about the love of the dangerous eyed girl and the lemon haired boy, does anyone remember them?

And that is part of the reason she clings so desperately to the hope that he is alive. She needs someone to tell her it happened, to tell her they remember angry, cursing women, and crazy whistlers. We all know the other reason she hold so tightly to the hope that he is alive, she loves him. Why didn't she kiss him on the shores that she now sits on, her eyes that streaming? Or what about in his father's shop that Christmas night, it would have been easy. But sometimes she is glad that she did not, for if she did then maybe the hurt would be to great, maybe she would have faded to me long ago. The night air brings memories of a soft eyed old man and an iron fisted women. The slight shiver that raises the hair on her arms reminds her of a cold dead boy on a train. The smoke from the fire in the house across the river shows flashes of a red sky, a girl screaming with in agony as her soul was sliced and left to bleed. Her eyes had streamed tears for days, she had no control, and she thought of them as the blood of her soul. She was not cut so she bleeds though her eyes. Humans amaze me. Even though she was torn and bleeding she clung to hope, how could she when her life had been so filled with my presence?

She gets up and walks toward her house, the house of Ilsa and as she goes she prays to the god that Max trusted and believed in and counts stars. As she walks the tears begin to slow, and her face acquires the look that has everybody fooled, she looks almost happy in a bittersweet way, she walks with a purpose and her skin glows with a healthy hue. Have you ever heard the expression don't judge a book by its cover well, whoever said that was more than right, and it doesn't only apply to books. People can't be judged by their covers just as book thieves cannot be judged by their physical appearance of health and happiness. It is just the surface.

**** Disclaimer I do not own anything that seems familiar to you it belongs to the brilliant Markus Zusak who unfortunately is not me. ****** (If I was Rudy and Liesel would have lived happily ever after)