The Book Thief (Review?)

Imagine this: A sky painted a dull faded out shade of gray so weak it was ran into black.

Imagine the sky lazily regurgitating snowflake after snowflake, as if the will of the clouds were burnt and the flakes were the last of the ashes.

Imagine a weather so cold that it will chill your desire to live.

Imagine a street of despair running up to the doorstep of a house in post WWI Germany.

Imagine the house so depressed that it did not even want to be a barn.

Imagine the life of an eleven year old kid who cannot read, but loves to, living in that house accompanied by just one book.

Imagine buying books with rolled cigarettes

Imagine the  childish take on life knocking right on the throes of death.

Imagine a victory in the backdrop of slowly humming tubular bells.

Imagine your imagination turning over a new leaf, and deciding to throw the book out.

Imagine a promise kept.

Imagine death telling you a story.

Imagine death telling you a story about life.

Imagine goosebumps on every page.

Imagine not reading it.