A human doesn’t have a heart like mine. The human heart is a line, whereas my own is a circle, and I have the endless ability to be in the right place at the right time. The consequence of this is that I’m always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both. Still, they have one thing I envy. Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.
Death's job is not pleasant, always in the midst of all that pain. Fortunately, every so often happens to do some particular encounter, and to discover that the same thing can be ugly and glorious. Among the stories of this kind, which he likes remember to help to distract himself as he works, there's the book thief's one, a little girl who at the beginning of this story could not read, was an orphan and alone in the world, and at the end she had family, friends, memories, love, and reading as the most faithful companion. In the background: the Second World War.
A story so sad and beautiful, that Death wanted to share it with us.
