The Book Thief Narrative Essay

3:03. The sun has not yet risen. I’m writing this under a street light.

The slums of the city are nothing like the shining red and golden buildings of the marketplace and the ports. There were toppled towers and caved in houses all around the place. Shadows lurked everywhere. I kept my gun in my hand at all times, and did not dare to take the horse into that wretched place. Instead, she waited for me at the hotel. The home of the thief was nothing but a tent being held up by several wooden poles, situated by a dirty sewer stream.

I crept in unheard, as all hell was breaking loose inside. The old man was angrily trying to bust open the locks with a hammer, shouting and swearing at the chest like a madman. All the while, I could hear another voice, shouting and

That was when I noticed a peculiar object laying half buried in the dirt floor. It was a skull that someone had gone to great lengths to preserve. Apparently, it was an old enemy of the thief who robbed me, and he had taken the skull as a memoir of his victory over him.

I took it from him. You see, my old mentor had an entire skeleton in the back of his laboratory in his clinic. He hired a grave robber to dig it up a long time ago and preserved the bones. I missed that old thing sorely. We actually just called it “Bones.” It terrified me at first, but Bones was essential in helping me learn skeletal anatomy. Especially when Doctor Valeron made me take him apart and put him back together again. This skull is no Bones, but he is a Bone. That’s what I’ll call him, I think. A memory of the shining city.

At any rate, I am more than ready to leave now. I will watch the sun rise in the countryside, not here. I have acted as best as I could, I think. Fixed up that soldier boy. Kept that old woman from succumbing to her illness. They will be fine, I pray. As will be the others I shall