The Book Shoppe’s Keeper

My life and my world have found struggle in a way I had never dreamt to be possible. I hope that you, yes you, can make a difference, every person can make a difference. This Letter is the only piece of literacy I have ever authored, I hope it finds its way into the hands of someone who will take these words to heart. My deepest wish is for this story to find its way across the sea of collective and into the hearts of the individual. 

I’ve always wanted to own my own book store, to get lost in the words of a thousand pages...but I never thought it would happen like this. I always thought about books of fiction, autobiographies, childhood limericks...but these books, they are a different story indeed.

A letter brought me to this book store, telling me where to go and what to do. It started as a job, now it’s my entire life’s work. I have never had a desire to be a writer, but this letter is something I feel strongly about. As I write this, I know the urgency of documenting this information before the shoppe, the books, and I are all gone for good.

My life has been the same, day after day for the past few hundred years. I wake up in my room, which is the smallest of these rooms, tucked away into one of the massive branches of the enchanted wood. I go to my looking glass and gaze into the same reflection that has stared back at me for the better part of my memory: long wispy silver hair, greying with wisdom and the ripeness of age, I brush it with the same thick toothed comb and run my long fingers through it one last time before looking back to the icy blue eyes and high cheekbones of my reflection. I pick out a dress and slip a simple heart locket over my head. Then I begin my day in this bookshoppe. It usually begins with a nice hot cup of herbal tea and a croissant. I have a cat, or rather kitten that follows me around all day, he has been here as long as I have, but neither one of us seems to age in any noticeable manner. This is yet another mystery of this shoppe that I cannot explain. I have grown quite fond of him over the years, and thus have given him the name Sterling.

This tree and this shoppe are unlike anything anyone has ever seen before in History, and I would know. This shoppe holds many secrets, more than you could ever fathom. It is carved out of the trunk of a massive tree. I have never seen another tree like this. It grows in the most peculiar pattern, in a spiral towards the sky twisting counterclockwise. As the tree grows and contorts, new rooms form in the trunk, the bookshoope being the first of the rooms. I have never been able to find the type of tree close to this. Sometimes when I am on the ladder moving and dusting the shelves, I’ll catch the slightest whiff of juniper, or when I turn a page, the order of citrus wafts out, on an even rarer occasion, I’ll slide my hand down the banister to find a glistening sap in the palm of my hand.

Another mystery of this place in need of explanation is the books. They randomly show up on shelves or on tables waiting for me to read and categorize them into their correct locations. The trunk is the main library, with a tall stone fireplace that stretches and vents to the outside world, it is always warm and cozy in this room. There is a ladder that runs along the shelves in this circular room. Above the shelves, there is a jar of dirt or sand with the name of a country in calligraphy. Below that jar stands all the books that have ever appeared inside this shoppe.

These books are different than most, not fiction, or fantasy or remotely made up. They are documented secrets to be held with the utmost care. Each book is different and carefully designed, but they carry the words, thoughts, and behaviors of influential people. They hold the tales of history in their very pages. They have no author except for time itself. My only guess is that the roots of this tree run as far underground and around the world to gather such information from different parts of the world. Among these shelves stand the titles: Napoleon's Deepest Nightmares, Albert Einstein’s Every Thought, The Names and Chords of all the Songs Donald Trump Sings while on Air Force One, Conspiracies about the Taj Mahal, Every Heart’s Desire of Charles Lindbergh and Why Cleopatra Should Have Chosen Octavius Over Marc Anthony. They carry so many secret things about a plethora of significant historical figures. And my job is to read and sort through all of them.

The Tree and the books are linked together, in such a way I cannot begin to express. To my horror, the leaves of the tree are starting to wither one by one, and as the leaves wither, the pages of the books turn to dust. Our struggle happened many years ago, this tree has always been a haven, a beacon against any storm. But years ago, on the day of Lincoln's Assassination, the tree groaned during that harsh night’s storm. The eerie sound echoed through the shoppe scaring Sterling into a tizzy, he slept the entire night next to me curled up on my pillow. That was new behavior for this place, over the next few years more and more leaves either died, withered or fell to the soil around the base of the tree. As this phenomenon continued, pages began to disintegrate, and I found a pile of dust where the book “Every Dance Move Perfected By Tom Cruise” once sat. I was horrified, I was beginning to feel my entire world sway in a way I never dreamt would be possible.

My conclusion has come to this, our society has changed. The titles of these books on a collective basis have changed from historians of promise and purpose looking to change the world for the better...into titles telling the story of burnt bridges and broken spirits. Our society has lost its respect and honor for their countries, their heritage and their roots. Thus, this tree and its own roots are receding. As historical importance begins to disappear figuratively in the hearts and minds of the people, they begin to disappear literally from the shelves of this shoppe. Restoration is a must, our heritage, our legacy and our future are based on things of the past. For those past events were stepping stones into the people and society we are today.

I hope that people can learn to work together again, to help each other again, to build constructive and beneficial relationships again. For if they do, the struggle of this shoppe will cease, I know the country and this tree will grow back stronger. I hope to see titles of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness and faithfulness return to the covers of these documents and bound in the words of their stories. I long to see hope scrolled out on these pages again. I long to see this tree, these books, and the stories thrive again!

The Keeper of the Book Shoppe,

Willow