The Rewritten Ending of The Book Thief

FLYING MEMORIES

I watched The Book Thief grow as Liesel continued filling in the empty spaces with her words. Each word, each letter even, was just as important as the one before and the one to come after.

Every so often, she would smile or frown as she saw the process of her own maturing. She felt like her book was a puzzle; every word added another piece. As Liesel wrote, she felt her memories being engraved into the book, becoming forever remembered.

Her hand was aching by page three. Her fingers were stiff by page four, and were trembling by page five. Her shaky words stuttered from her mind to the ever-filling sheets of paper, but determination nudged her on, forcing her to write yet another letter, another word, another page.

Fatigue seized Liesel sometime between her tenth and eleventh page, and her writing hand slowly stilled. As if her will to stay awake was a dam, torrents of dreams came flooding through the river of her subconsciousness

✵   ✵   ✵   WHAT SHE DREAMED OF   ✵   ✵   ✵

A world without Nazis. 

The skies were, for once, a clear azure; the air was clean of smoke. Concentration camps didn’t even exist seeing as they weren’t needed. Jews, people who weren’t  Jews,  and everyone inside and outside the range stood side by side, trying to improve their nation, and ultimately, their world. This was a place where Max didn’t have to hide for being what he was, and where Liesel didn’t have to keep secrets of harboring a Jew. Where her family wasn’t murdered for their belief in communism and they still lived.

The book thief was enraptured by her dream, and she never wanted to leave it. Even when the sirens sounded, she fought her consciousness, hoping to linger just a bit longer. Werner begged her to go and stay safe in her dream. When Hans shook her, she had no choice but to surrender to awakeness.

“Liesel, come.”

Werner disappeared.

Grabbing her precious books, she ran with Papa to the bomb shelter.

The houses of Himmel Street were creaking from fear as the bombs fell atrociously overhead. The women clutched their babies and prayed that everything would be alright, while the men stood passively and carefully concealed their emotions but cowered on the inside. Children covered their ears and hoped that the beating of their hearts in their ears would drown out the beating of the bombs.

In the midst of violence and panic, joyful notes sounded, and words from a story were quietly read. The apprehensive atmosphere noticeably loosened.

No one had to look, but sitting on little wooden chairs in the center of the room were Liesel and Papa, scaring away fear itself.

The shower of bombs slackened to a quieter drizzle, until they disappeared altogether, ending with a bomb that even the bravest would have flinched at.

Minutes later, the all-clear siren sounded.

The people hiding in 45 Himmel Street peeked outside. 

✵   ✵   ✵   WHAT THEY NOTICED   ✵   ✵   ✵

1. A thin layer of snow-like ash.

2. Scattered shrapnel.

3. Remnants of houses.

4. Burning rubble.

5. Screaming.

Himmel Street was safe, but many of its residents immediately started sprinting. Ignoring their own houses, they ran to the next neighborhood, and their searching voices called out names.

“Anton! Anton! Where are you?!”

“Lara! Are you safe?”

“Have you seen Heidi? Has anyone seen Heidi?”

People had just begun to crawl out of their basements to the safety of the street. I waited for the right moment, and then climbed in to collect a couple of unlucky souls who emerged from their shelters too early. Those people had believed that they were safe, and that “the bombs would never hit them.” So much for that.

Liesel and Papa stood and watched the flames devour the buildings as the LSE pulled out survivor after survivor. Rudy quietly joined them. In the end, everyone stood and surveyed the scene in vigil silence, as the flames consumed what was left of the fragile buildings. Soon enough, only charred remains of memories crumbled to ash and were blown away by the wind.

The memories flew away.

When the people of Himmel Street began to walk back to their homes, Rudy and Liesel pulled away from the rest of the crowd.

“That was really close.”

“Too close.”

“A kiss to celebrate?”

“Shut up, Saukerl.”

“Someday, Saumensch.”

She laughed. He grinned.

Afterwards, Liesel would write about this incident. About Rudy. About the flying memories. About how, if Papa hadn’t woken her, and the planes overhead had just changed their target a little bit, she wouldn’t be alive.

Then she would regret it.