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first the colors
then the humans that's usually how I see things
or at least how I try here is a small
fact you going to die
I am in all truthfulness attempting to be cheerful about this whole topic
though most people find themselves hindered in believing me no matter my
protestations
please trust me I most definitely can
be cheerful I can be amiable agreeable
affable and that's only the A's just
don't ask me to be nice nice
has nothing to do with me reaction
to the aforementioned fact does this worry you
I urge you don't be afraid I'm
nothing if not fear of course
an introduction the beginning where are my manners
I could introduce myself properly but it's not really necessary
you'll know me well enough and soon enough depending on a diverse range of
variables
it suffices to say that at some point in time
I will be standing over you as genially is possible
your soul will be in my arms
a color will be perched on my shoulder
I will carry you gently away at that moment you will be lying there
I rarely find people standing up you'll be caked in your own body
there might be discovery a scream
dribbled down the air the only sound I'll here after that
will be my own breathing and the sound of the smell
of my footsteps the question is
what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you
what will the sky be saying personally
I like a chocolate colored sky, dark dark
chocolate people say it suits me I do however try to enjoy every color I see
the whole spectrum a billion or so flavors
none of them quite the same and a sky to slowly suck on
it takes the edge off the stress it helps me relax
a small theory
people observe the colors of the day
only at its beginning and ends but to me it's quite clear
that the day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations
with each passing moment
a single hour can consist of thousands of different colors waxy
yellows clouds black hues murky darknesses
in my line of work I make it a point to notice them
as I've been alluding to
my one saving grace is distraction
it keeps me sane it helps me cope
considering the length of time I've been performing this job the trouble is
who could ever replace me who could step in while I take a break in your
stock standard resort-style
holiday destination whether it be tropical or the ski trip variety
the answer of course is nobody
which has prompted me to make a conscious deliberate decision
to make distraction my holiday
needless to say I holiday in increments
in colors still it's possible that you might be asking why does he even
need a holiday what does he need distraction from
which brings me to my point it's the leftover humans
the survivors they're the ones I can't stand to look at
although on many occasions I still fail I deliberately seek out the colors to
keep my mind off the but now and then
I witness the ones who are left behind crumbling amongst the jigsaw puzzle
of realisation, despair
and surprise they have punctured hearts
they have beaten lungs which
in turn brings me to the subject I'm telling you about tonight
or today or whatever the hour and color
it's the story of one of those perpetual survivors
and expert at being left behind
it's just a small story really about
amongst other things a girl
some words an accordionist
some fanatical germans a jewish fist fighter
and quite a lot of thievery
I saw The Book Thief three times
beside
railway line
first up is something
white of the blinding kind
some of you are most likely thinking that white is not really a
color and all that tired sort of nonsense but I'm here to tell you that
it
is white is without question a color and personally
I don't think you want to argue a reassuring announcement
please be calm despite that previous threat
I am all bluster I am not violent I am NOT malicious
I am a result yes
it was white it felt as though the whole globe
was dressed in snow like it had pulled it on the way you put on a jumper
next to the train line footprints were sunken to their shins
trees wore blankets of ice
as you might expect someone had died
they couldn't just leave him on the ground
for now it wasn't such a problem but very soon the track ahead would be
cleared and the train would need to move on
there were two guards there was a mother and her daughter
one corpse the mother the girl and the corpse
remained stubborn and silent well what else do you want me to do
the guards were tall and short the tall one always spoke first
though he was not in charge he looked at the smaller rounder one the one with the
juicy red face "well" was the response "we can't just leave them like this can
we?"
the tall one was losing patience "why not?" and the smaller one damn near
exploded he looked up at the tall ones chin and cried spins duke
are you stupid the abhorrence on his cheeks was growing thicker by the moment
his skin widened "come on" he said traipsing through the snow "we'll carry
all three of them back if we have to, we'll notify the next stop"
as for me
I had already made the most elementary of mistakes
I can't explain to you the severity of myself disappointment
originally I done everything right
I studied the blinding white snow sky
who stood at the window of the moving train I practically
inhaled it but still I wavered
I buckled became interested in the girl
curiosity got the better of me and I resigned myself to stay as long as my
schedule allowed
and I watched 23 minutes later
when the train was stopped I climbed out with them
a small soul
was in my arms I stood a little to the right
the dynamic train guard duo made their way back to the mother
the girl and the small male corpse
I clearly remember that my breath was loud that day I'm surprised the guards
didn't notice me as they walked by
the world was sagging now under the weight of all that snow
perhaps ten meters to my left
the pale empty stomached girl was standing
frost stricken and mouth jittered
cold arms were folded tears
were frozen to the book thiefs face
the Eclipse
next
is a signature black to show the poles of my versatility if you like
it was the darkest moment before the dawn
this time I had come for a man of perhaps twenty four years of age
it was a beautiful thing in some ways the plane was still coughing
smoke was leaking from both its lungs
when it crashed three deep gashes were made in the earth
its wings when I sawn off arms no more flapping
not for this metallic little bird
some other small facts
sometimes I arrive too late, I rush
and some people cling longer to life than expected
after a small collection of minutes the smoke exhausted itself
there was nothing left to give
a boy arrived first with cluttered breath and what appeared to be a toolkit
with great trepidation he approached the cockpit and watched the pilot
gauging if he was alive at which point he still was
The Book Thief arrived perhaps thirty seconds later
years had passed
but I recognized her, she was panting
from the toolkit the boy took out of all things
a teddy bear he reached in through the torn windscreen and placed it on the pilots
chest
the smiling bear sat huddled amongst the crowded wreckage of the man and the
blood
a few minutes later I took my chance the time was right I walked in
loosened his soul and carried it gently out
all that was left was the body the dwindling smell of smoke
and the smiling teddy bear as the crowd arrived in full things of course have
changed
horizon was beginning to charcoal what was left of the blackness above
was nothing now but a scribble and disappearing fast
the man in comparison was the color of bone
in skeleton colored skin
ruffled uniform his eyes were golden brown like coffee stains
and the last scroll from above formed what to me
appeared an odd yet familiar shape signature
the crowd did what crowds do
as I made my way through each person stood and played with the quietness
of it it was a small concoction a disjointed hand movements muffled
sentences and puked
self-conscious terms when a glance back at the plane
the pilots open mouth appeared to be smiling
a final dirty joke
another human punchline. he remained
shrouded amongst his uniform as the graying like arm wrestled
the sky as have many of the others
when I began my journey away there seemed quick shadow again a final moment
of eclipse
the recognition open up the Seoul GOM
you see to me for just a moment
despite all of the colors that touch and grapple with what I see in this world
I will often catch an eclipse and a human eye
I've seen millions of them
I've seen more eclipses than I care to remember
the flag
the last time I saw her
was red the sky was like soup
boiling and stirrimg in some places it was burnt
there were black crumbs and pepper streaked amongst the redness
earlier kids had been playing hopscotch there on the street that looked like
oil-stained pages when I arrived I can still hear the echoes the feet
tapping the road the children voices laughing and the smiles like salt
but decaying fast them
bombs this time
everything was too late the sirens
cooking shrieks in the radio all
too late within minutes
mounds of concrete and earth were stacked and piled
the streets were ruptured veins blood streamed
'till it was dried on the road in the bodies was struck there like driftwood
after a flood
they were glued down every last one of them
a packet of souls was it fate
misfortune step glued them down like that
of course not let's not be stupid it probably had more to do with the hurled bombs thrown
down by humans hiding in the clouds
for hours the sky remained a devastating home-cooked
red the small German town had been flung apart one more time
snowflakes of ash fell so lovely you were tempted to stretch out your tongue
to catch them taste them only they would have scorched
your lips they would've cooked your mouth
clearly I see it I was just about to leave
when I found him kneeling there a mountain range of rubble was written
designed erected around her she was clutching
the book apart from everything else The Book Thief wanted desperately to go back
to the basement
to write or to read through her story one last time
in hindsight I see it so obviously on your face
she was dying for it the safety the home
of it but she could not move also the basement
no longer existed it was part of the mangled landscape
please again I ask you to believe me
I wanted to stop to crouch down I wanted to say
I'm sorry child but that is not allowed
I did not crouch down I did not speak
instead I watched her a while when she was able to move
I followed her she dropped the book
she kneeled The Book Thief
how rude
the book was stepped on several
times as the cleanup began and although the
orders were given clear only the mess of concrete
the girls most precious item was thrown aboard a garbage truck
at which point I was compelled I climbed aboard and took it in my hand
not realizing that I could read her story several hundred times over the
years on my travels
I would watch the places where we intersected
and marvelled at what the girl saw and how she survived
that is the best I can do what should fall into line with everything else I
spectated during that time
when I recollect her
I see a long list of colors
but it's the 3 in which I saw or heard in the flesh
that resonate the most sometimes I managed to float far above those three
moments
I hang suspended until the septic truth
bleeds towards clarity thats
when I see them formulate the colors
red white black
they fall
top of each other the scribbled signature black onto the blinding global
white
under the thick soupy red
he is often I'm reminded of her and into my vast array of pockets I have kept her
story to retell
it is one of the small legion I carry
each one extraordinary in its own right each one an attempt
an immense leap up an attempt to prove to me that you
and you're human existence
are worth it here it is
one of a handful the book
thief if you feel like it
come with me i would tell you a story
I'll show you something