When he moves, a streetlight stabs him, and the words flow out like blood.

I want words at my funeral. But I guess that means you need life in your life.

You're far from this. This story is just another few hundred pages of your mind.

Clearly, I see it. I was just about to leave when I found her kneeling there. A mountain range of rubble was written, designed, erected around her. She was clucthing at a book.

You want to know what I truly look like? I'll help you out. Find yourself a mirror while I continue.

She was battered and beaten up, and not smiling this time. Liesel could see it on her face. Blood leaked from her nose and licked at her lips. Her eyes had blackened. Cuts had opened up and a series of wounds were rising to the surface of her skin. All from the words. From Liesel's words.

I have to say that although it broke my heart, I was, and still am, glad I was there.