The Book of Life

By Mary E. Dipple

“I don’t want to.” Annie tucked her hands under her arms, backing away from Grandma’s desk, her shoulders hitching up to her ears. “You can’t make me.”

Grandma looked at her with eyes full of sadness. “I know, dear. None of us want to. This is our purpose.”

Annie shook her head, her stringy raven-colored hair flying in her face. “It’ll kill me.”

Grandma smiled, the dark circles under her eyes giving way to the wrinkles that scrunched at their corners. “Being a keeper isn’t as bad as you think. You’ll spend your life recording stories of great heroes and brave maidens. Because of you, their lives will never be forgotten.”

“But it’s not all about heroes and love and brave sacrifice.” Annie’s shoulders slumped, and she inched toward the desk.

Sunlight filtered into the study through the open window and played across Grandma’s weathered hand as it rested on the enormous book. Annie pointed at the crimson lines scrawling across the pages. “See, that’s just recording Mrs. Ember doing her dishes. There’s nothing worth remembering there. Nothing worth giving my life for.”

Grandma turned, her old chair creaking, and looked at the book as looping and twirling letters danced across the page, inscribed by an unseen hand. “Oh, but this, my dear. This is the bravest thing of all. Just yesterday, Mrs. Ember was so overcome with the sorrow of losing her babe that she didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. Today, though, she’s doing her dishes and planning a meal for her husband. A man who has lashed out at her in his own grief, unable to face the helplessness of losing his child and the near loss of the woman he loves.”

“Oh…” Annie dropped her arms. “But you can’t tell me that Tommy Daniels doing that idiot stunt on his bicycle was worth recording. He nearly got himself killed.”

“And if he had”—Grandma looked over her spectacles at Annie—“then it would be a good thing there was someone here to record the moments of his life. My dear, there are no moments in life that are worthless. Every moment, no matter how mundane, is worth remembering.”

Annie hugged herself as a cool breeze rustled the leaves of the old maple tree before stealing through the window and causing the drapes to sway. She thought about Tommy’s stupid stunt. He’d done it to show that stuck-up Sally Day that he wasn’t a crybaby. He’d skinned his knee and scuffed his face when the bicycle crashed and skidded across the pavement. No one would ever call him a crybaby again after the way he’d picked himself, and his bike, up without a single tear. To the other kids, Tommy was now a hero for standing up to Sally.

Annie still thought he was an idiot, though.

“But…” Annie’s words stuck in her throat like cotton balls, and she could hardly look at Grandma’s pale face. Grandma had been the keeper for as long as Annie could remember.

Annie’s mother and aunties filled in when needed, but it was always Grandma she found in the study with her hand on the book. Annie couldn’t imagine anyone else sitting in Grandma’s chair and she didn’t want to. “But you’ll die.”

Grandma’s thin lips turned up in a smile, and her free hand beckoned Annie in for a hug. “It’s okay, Annie. Because my life is here too, spread across all these pages of beautiful moments. I have had a full and wonderful life, and now my inkwell has run dry. It’s time for another to record these precious moments.”

She kissed Annie’s forehead. “I love you, my dear sweet Annabelle. No matter what.”

Annie swallowed as she watched the red letters continued to scrawl across the paper, the color of the ink fading like a pen running dry.

A tear welled in Annie’s eye as she read the page. Mr. Ember had come home early with flowers and kissed his wife’s cheek. Within five minutes, they were crying together, mourning the life that was taken from them too soon. A life that was recorded, in its entirety, a few pages previously. If Grandma hadn’t been there, if a keeper hadn’t recorded these moments, that baby’s life may have faded and been forgotten.

A tear broke free of Annie’s eye as she reached out a trembling hand and placed it over Grandma’s.

She expected pain, like the prick of a needle or something. All she felt was Grandma’s hand as she slipped away, leaving only the crisp paper beneath Annie’s hand. The crimson letters continued to scrawl across the page, taking Annie’s lifeblood and using it to record the stories of all the beautiful moments of life.

Moments that would never be forgotten.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A lover of all things magical, Mary E. Dipple uses her talent of spinning stories to shine a light into the darkness that so easily entangles our lives. She is currently writing her epic-fantasy series The Lotus Chronicles, due out between 2025-2027. When Mary isn’t slaying the darkness with story, she enjoys spending her days tending her ever growing rose garden, playing with her lovable furry assistants, and writing flash fiction. You can find many of her flash fiction pieces on her website.

---

Author Website | Facebook | Instagram