Special

I'm drowning.

I read through more and more of the Book Thief today,
and while I was taking my test, Lisel Meminger whispers in my ears.
Do you really care about this, Saukerl?
Staring at Mr. Miller and thinking blankly of Papa Meminger's accordion face, I have to admit that I do not.
Tears stain the multiple choice and two short-answer questions, betraying me. I ignore the lack of stares from others around me, try not to think of Teddy bears.
When I finish the book, I will have all my books on their fine shelves and weep;
I will cradle Lisel Meminger in my arms.

Someone has to.

She'd yell at me if she were here, too, my Lisel:
Come now, Saukerl. Go and eat your lunch; be thankful it isn't my mama's soup!

I grasp my fingers into her promise and sigh; time for life.