Sandberg 6

The Book Keeper:

Fan Fiction for The Book Thief by Markus Zusak and

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

This girl… I have seen her many times during her short life. This is a frail, faint heart that always keeps me near. I nearly had her a few times, but something always decides to pull her back into the world and she somehow pulls out another day. After a few times I decided to stay close to her… it was too tiring for me to always be rushing back to her whenever it seems she will finally let herself fall into my waiting grasp. I call her the Book Keeper. It seemed like a good name for her because the bound words of a book always happen to be within her reach and giving her something that keeps her going. There are others, I have learned through my observances, who call her Hazel. I do not know what a name like this is supposed to mean, but it seems to fit her in an odd way I cannot explain. Humans can be so strange, yet purposeful in their naming of people and things. Human names are something I will never quite understand.

Now, back to the Book Keeper; I first met her when, at the age of thirteen, she almost willingly slipped into my arms. She was nearly touching my outreached hand when she looked at her parents and a look of resolve entered her eyes. She had decided to live another day despite the pain and struggle. Sometimes human determination leaves me with a feeling of awe. After she dismissed me that day, she stayed in the back of my mind as I moved to the next room where a child slipped gently into my arms. I like when my job brings relief to a sufferer like this. It is what keeps me going during the more unpleasant assignments.

So Hazel lived on. I have learned a lot about humans since I first began my sometimes cruel and other times compassionate job of taking things out of life. But Hazel is different from most humans I have come across. She spends most of her time in her home with her mother and father and lives a slow and dragging life. She is quite unlike the humans in the outside world who rush back and forth and seem to never stop except briefly to eat or eternally when they reach for my hand. Hazel really is a keeper of books. There is one that always seems to be in her vicinity and she looks at it as if it holds the secret to living one more day… maybe it does.

One day, her world seemed to instantly take on a new meaning; it was not until she met Augustus that she started living. Augustus was also a human that I had almost taken before, but, like the Book Keeper, he had averted my grasp for some unfulfilled purpose. These two humans seemed to instantly know each other's minds and hearts. Time passed quickly as I watched these two hearts collide like falling stars. That is the past; here is the now.

The Book Keeper's Eyes are dark ever since I led Augustus away from the pain of life. I think she is angry that he had to meet me before she could. I could see that in her damp and empty eyes when she visited the shell that used to house him. Since that time I have stayed much nearer to Hazel. The emptiness I find in her eyes reminds me of all the reasons I sometimes dislike my job. Sometimes I wish I could be the life-giver instead of the life receiver. I do not like when humans are angry at me for doing my job… as if I can help it! This anger burns only slightly in the Book Keeper's heart. It is the lack of feeling, the lack of purpose that makes me believe that soon she will reach for me. But I do not want her to grasp my hand just yet; I can't explain exactly why. It seems wrong to me that she should give up so easily on life after giving all her strength to fight for it for so long. Yes, I am looking forward to knowing every inner thought she contains when I finally take her, but right now I would rather let her make some sort of mark in the world. I want her to be able to show other living humans the quiet and extraordinary ideas that she carefully constructs within her mind. It is not as if this will make her life any more extraordinary. It just seems to me that other humans should have the privilege to see more of her life and maybe even learn from it. I want her to be able to look back on her life with contentment… I desperately want to help her.

Hazel rests, just barely out of my reach. If I want to help her, I need to come up with an idea and take action soon. I am trying to remember a human I have watched in the past who has any similarities with the Book Keeper. There are so many to go through and a few stand out more than others… all these humans who have briefly lived before falling into my care. No matter how brief, all have made some mark, whether good or bad it is not for me to judge. I try to think of the ones I admire; surely they were somehow in the right if I am able to admire them. Finally, I come across her name... strange that the titles of the past and present humans should be so similar. The Book Thief and the Book Keeper. It seems as if there must be some reason to connect these stories. The Book Thief's story is one I value more than most. I do not know how or why, but somehow she was the first human whose life had truly caught my attention. There had been other humans that I had been slightly interested in, but she was the one who made me realize that I can explore the world of the living even though I am the gateway to the unliving. I had watched her life unfold painfully, yet gloriously. The obsession with words is the obvious connection between these two characters, but, even more importantly, they share the same strength to push through adversity. The Book Thief had decided to leave her story behind by creating her own words. If only I could get Hazel to do the same.

I have decided to recreate some of the important events in the Book Thief's life for Hazel in hopes that she will have a similar reaction. It is not often that I have toyed with the lives of humans; it is the end of life that I usually deal with. But now that this idea has come to me, I cannot dismiss it without trying something. I do not know how much influence I will have in the realm of the living, but I must try. As I remember, the first turning point in the Book Thief's life (I just remembered that the humans called her Liesel) was her discovery of The Grave Digger's Handbook. Perhaps this book could have the same turning point effect on Hazel. One thing handy about my job is that I can easily pass through time and space. I quickly step into the past and gingerly scoop the book off the snowy graveyard ground. Liesel will not miss it as I borrow it for another graveyard so many years and miles away. I carefully place the book in front of the fresh mound where the Book Keeper will visit soon, I am sure of it. I stay there and wait, as if my presence will lure her to the grave and the gift I placed before it.

As a time traveler, I am not very good at keeping track of what humans would call "real time." I must have been here for several days, but finally I see the Book Keeper approaching, unknowingly towards a new book to keep. She stands there for a moment, staring into the oblivion that has swallowed Augustus, the one who had shown her another reason to live. From the proximity of her soul to my grasp, I know that she will soon enter that same oblivion. I just hope that I will be able to carry out my plan before she sinks into my ever-ready arms. She instantly bends down and grasps my treasure and now slowly turns it around and around in her delicate hold. Her eyes are puzzlement and curiosity as she slowly sinks to the ground and reads the first page, then the next, then the next… It must be hours later as she slowly walks to her car with her prize, having read it not once, but two times through. I am amazed at the speed of her reading, for it had taken Liesel months of laborious reading to finish. But it has had the same strong impact on this reader as it had on the first reader. There must be something about me that intrigues one so close to leaving life. I am flattered.

I don't know what it is, but something about that book has stirred the Book Keeper. Maybe it is the reminder of her spirit's propinquity to my outstretched hand. She knows that it will not be long before someone will use a handbook like this for the shell she has been staying in… the body that has been deemed inadequate to give her what most people would call a full and happy life. The Book Keeper seems restless. This is a good sign. She takes out two papers: one is the eulogy she wrote for Augustus and the other is the eulogy he had written for her. She sits and stares at both of the papers before her and now it has been hours. Now she has a pen in her hand. She scribbles some words on her wide-ruled paper then crumples the paper and tosses it in the corner. Over and over again. I think of all the trees I have received as they exit their lives; they must know that the loss of their life fuels the creation of so many stories. The Book Keeper is following my plan nicely, but she needs more than trees to fuel this story. Again I pass through time, as I must gather the tinder for feeding the small flames of this new story. It seems that I have become a thief of the Book Thief. I snatch the small black journal from the garbage truck for the second time, but this time it is for another reader. I feel that this time holds more purpose than the first, but it is not in my job description to label things or people with values. It is my job to collect without questions. I do not understand why this case has drawn me from my normal duties, but I am determined to see it through.

I gently place the Book Thief's journal on Hazel's bed. This may make her suspicious, but I do not want to take any risk of her not discovering it in time. She does seem puzzled at the appearance of the book, but her curiosity leads her quickly through the pages as she takes notes on a partly crumpled sheet of notebook paper. Breathless from her inadequate lungs, she rushes to the car and drives as I follow close behind. She walks into the local Dollar Tree and rummages through the aisles until she triumphantly grasps a deep blue journal. She quickly purchases it and rushes home where I find her writing vigorously. She seems to write without cease except when her mother and father force her to come to the table to eat. In the third late night of writing, the Book Keeper suddenly gasps and chokes for air then collapses to the ground. Her mother and father rush to her side and hold her on the way to the hospital, but I am even closer to her. She struggles out of my embrace and the doctors are able to stabilize her. She can still feel that I am near, but I know that she does not hate me. She knows it is almost her time to come. She somehow gets paper and a pen; she is as determined as the Book Thief. She fights for more time as she rushes to finish her chronicle, her mark. It is her gift to the world by which it will remember her. I watch as she slowly forms the final words, "I do," on the page, then hands it to her mother with a slight smile. There are tears around the room, but surprisingly I feel hatred from no one as I draw near to her soul. The world will remember the Book Keeper. She will be known as strong, brave, honest, and not unfortunate to have lived a short life full of love. As her soul rises to meet me, I look across history and ahead into the future. I am, and forever will be, haunted by humans.