Liesel's blood had dried inside of her. It crumbled. She almost broke into pieces on the steps.

My voice is like a rumour. I'm not sure if it came out or not, or if it is true.

Our footsteps run, and I don't want them to end. I want to run and laugh and feel like this forever. I want to avoid any awkward moment when the realness of reality sticks its fork into our flesh, leaving us standing there, together. I want to stay here, in this moment, and never go to other places, where we don't know what to say or what to do.

His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say "I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come." Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places.

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

She was a girl with a mountain to climb.

***A Last note from your narrator*** I am haunted by humans.