Hangover of the BOOK THIEF
Dear Death,
Good (time adverbial appropriate for you at this time) !
The destiny had it, both boys grew smarter. Both attained the wonderful growth and development. Both became the hear-throbs in their families. Perhaps, the boys are the chip off the old block, getting the sharp mind and strong body from their fathers.
Answer, however, is not obvious. Only thing is these people want to use that time.
Thus they are rushing here and there in a speed like that of electricity. An electromagnetic radiation. Light.
Good (time adverbial appropriate for you at this time) !
It happened in one of the trepidatious evenings, I was bestirred in my own thoughts. The thoughts of meeting you. It was a complex hoard of long awaited thoughts. Perhaps when I had heard about you in few of the famous people's talks. I heard more. More was intensity of the desire to meet you. Who on the Earth would like to meet you. Perhaps only those who have heard about you. And none you have already met.
My meeting was, however, incidental. An awkward accident. An unpleasant coincidence. Because you were stacked in the middle of nowhere. You were arrayed in the coffee-talks, cheap cries, lovebirds' babbles and what not. And then I was looming in the moderately-lit small room, looking for some lively things. NOT Death obviously.
Nobody wants death. But nobody survives till eternity. But the Death can devour anybody's time. Like mine.
You snatched from my life, complete 12 hours from my 5 days in a set of 23 small increments. Slowly and swiftly. Twenty-three. Like 23 pieces of bricks stuck together. I was like a lamb holding a knife to the butcher. Giving a half day from a whole life to none other than death. It is something that made me wandering in the alleys, corners, streets and impoverished houses that you mentioned. As if wandering might help.
I had a subtle feeling about the life. The so called precious life that is given to us. And I knew there are frolic moments throughout one's life. But why we are always preoccupied with the qualm about the meaning of life. Why as a matter of fact our feelings get ebbed by the desires. Well, like you unfolded a story of a skinny, little, cute book thief I opened some gyri and sulci of the right and left cerebral hemispheres and imagined a story myself.
💥A key word💥
imagined
In this story, unlike the story you told me, there is Rosa and Liesel. Both beautiful on their faces and in their hearts. If anything one is slightly taller than other. And both have given birth to two beautiful sons, only 5 days apart. Names coincidentally or intentionally matched to your story which you narrated in these 5 days.
🔔Names🔔
Max Vandenburg
Rudy Steiner
The destiny had it, both boys grew smarter. Both attained the wonderful growth and development. Both became the hear-throbs in their families. Perhaps, the boys are the chip off the old block, getting the sharp mind and strong body from their fathers.
🔕Correction 🔕
father
The phenotype might have been borrowed from Rosa (to Rudy) and Liesel (to Max). But more often than not Rudy smiles with Liesel's lips and Max winks with Rosa's eyelashes. This is vague and difficult to understand. And no sooner does Rudy become eight-year-old athletic kid than he starts feeling the gazes of gloomy faces all around. A big question is painted on innocent faces of people, on the road, in the halls, in the tall buildings' curtained windows, inside the cars. Everywhere.
💥The question💥
How much time do I have?
Thus they are rushing here and there in a speed like that of electricity. An electromagnetic radiation. Light.
🔥Note🔥
Speed of light = 299 792 458 m / s
Nobody is caring about another human's existence. In little bluish-brown eyes of Rudy, the world seems a race field of multitude of racers, the human racers. Racing for pride, posts, property, privilege and few other 'p's which Rudy cannot mention considering his age.
But then, I have to stop the story for now. I cannot bite off more than I can chew. I wouldn't have conjured this story had three persons not coaxed me to write in their so called new philosophy. I couldn't abate myself from writing knowing in my heart, like everything, it will also perish.
🐚The philosophy and
three persons🐚
“Who Cares?”
Walter Kugler
Viktor Chemmel
Ilsa Hermann
 |
| The Book Thief by Markus Zusak |
MONTH
|
DAY
|
START
|
END
|
DURATION
|
SITTINGS
|
TOTAL DURATION
|
MARCH
The Book Thief
By
Markus Zusak
|
5
|
5:28
|
6:14
|
0:46
|
5
|
2:48
|
6:40
|
7:28
|
0:48
|
||||
17:04
|
17:38
|
0:34
|
||||
20:02
|
20:14
|
0:12
|
||||
20:51
|
21:19
|
0:28
|
||||
6
|
7:07
|
7:24
|
0:17
|
3
|
2:24
|
|
19:08
|
19:42
|
0:34
|
||||
21:16
|
22:49
|
1:33
|
||||
7
|
1:32
|
2:14
|
0:42
|
8
|
3:22
|
|
6:38
|
6:40
|
0:02
|
||||
6:49
|
7:24
|
0:35
|
||||
13:04
|
13:21
|
0:17
|
||||
17:51
|
18:13
|
0:22
|
||||
18:47
|
19:07
|
0:20
|
||||
20:17
|
20:45
|
0:28
|
||||
22:16
|
22:52
|
0:36
|
||||
8
|
6:04
|
6:47
|
0:43
|
2
|
1:04
|
|
6:59
|
7:20
|
0:21
|
||||
9
|
6:19
|
6:55
|
0:36
|
5
|
2:22
|
|
6:58
|
7:19
|
0:21
|
||||
15:38
|
15:46
|
0:08
|
||||
15:57
|
17:14
|
1:17
|
||||
Total
|
23
|
12:00
|
||||
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