“The sky never seems to be the same color, does it?” He breathed. The smell of metal and sticky sun wafted up his nostrils. “Sometimes, it’s the color of faded polaroids like jaundiced skin, or petals pressed dry between the pages of a book, or ink-splotched paper. Sometimes it’s wrinkled, worn, like a warm familiar blanket you always sleep with, or as smooth as milk and honey. Whatever it is, it holds a new destiny under the line of fate, and sometimes, those skies will never come back again.” 

Hello friends. This is a little something that I was inspired to write from a fictional quote in the fictional book, The Last Human Stranger within the real historical-fiction book The Book Thief (if that makes any sense). It kind of sprouted out of nowhere a long time ago and I do not really know where I am going with it, but, I'm getting somewhere. This fan-fiction has no affiliation with The Book Thief or its plot. I do not own The Book Thief or Markus Zusak, because that would be enslavement and is illegal. Also, unfortunately, I do not own Teen Top either. Which is pretty tragic. But if I did, I would be very happy, hint-hint.