I never thought I was the fan-fiction-writing type, but this one just kind of came out. Hope you enjoy it!
A silent figure glided through the wreckage of what once had been Himmel Street. No one could see Him, but that didn’t matter much. No one was around to see anything. Years after the bombing of Himmel Street, Death was still busy cleaning up after the war. He still, somehow, always found time to go back and walk through Himmel Street, remembering all the houses and their occupants, just as He was doing now.
He first passed where the Fiedler’s house had once been. 45 Himmel Street. He saw terrified adults and anxious children. But mostly, he saw a girl, reading. He saw a boy, prodding her to continue. He saw two parents, one visibly proud, the other hiding her pride behind a rough exterior.
He walked a few yards, and almost kept walking when He reached the spot where 35 Himmel Street once was. He made Himself stop and look up. He saw a father, working all day at a tailor shop that paid nothing, just to keep his mind off the pain. He saw a mother, staying up at night while her husband was away mending uniforms in an army hospital, wondering if she would ever see him again and, with her last thought, missing him. He saw children, who hadn’t even begun to live, lying lifeless in what once had been a bedroom. And lastly, though He tried to keep the thought away, He saw a lemon-haired boy, with big, safe blue eyes, painted black and running on a track, shouting “Jesse Owens!” He saw him lying awake at night, thinking of and longing for just one kiss from the girl next door. He saw him as he got what he wanted, too late.
Death closed His eyes. So many memories swirled around in His mind. Finally, He reopened them and looked on to His ultimate destination, the former home of the book thief who He had seen three times before. As He looked on, He saw a mama, scrubbing her daughter in the bath while grumbling about how little work she had. He saw a papa, with eyes made of kindness and silver, playing his accordion, bringing the house down. He saw a Jewish fist fighter, gazing out the window at the dots of fire in the sky that burned his eyes. Finally, he saw a girl, reading in a bedroom to a sick man. She read and she read, hoping that her words would keep him alive. They did. He saw her writing on the walls of the basement with her papa, and being called a saumensch by her mama. At last, He saw her as a grown woman, far away, regretting that she had not kissed the boy she loved so incredibly hard before it was too late.
Turning on His heels, Death began making His way back through the aftermath on Himmel Street. He had places to go and a job to do. But, before He left the scene completely, He paused for a moment and reminded Himself of the only truth He had ever known.
“I am haunted by humans.”