is breath and clumsily unhooks the belt from its former owner, collapsing bones and rot and unidentifiable liquids in the process.
He has a sudden thought that this is what will become of him down here and he pushes it from his mind as forcefully as he can, focusing on the bits of leather and metal.
When he frees the scabbard and its leather straps it does fit the sword, not perfectly but well enough that he will not have to carry it. It takes him a minute to figure out how to wear it over his sweater but eventually the sword stays in place on his back.
“Thank you,” Zachary says to the corpse.
The corpse says nothing, silently grateful to be of assistance.
Zachary keeps moving, stumbling over statues. It is easier now. He switches the torch from one hand to the other to rest his arm.
The pieces of broken statues grow smaller, eventually there is only gravel beneath his feet. The expanse of marble resolves into something that might be a path.
The path turns into a tunnel.
Zachary thinks the torch might be getting dimmer.
He does not know how long he has been walking. He wonders if it is still January, if somewhere far above it is still snowing.
He can hear only his footsteps, his breath, his heartbeat, and the crackling flame of the torch that is definitely getting dimmer which is disappointing because he had hoped it would be a magic endless-light torch and not a regular extinguishable one.
There is a sound nearby that he is not causing. A movement along the ground.
The sound continues, growing louder. Something large is moving nearby. Behind him and now beside him.
Zachary turns and looks up as the torchlight illuminates a single large, dark eye surrounded by light fur. The eye stares at him placidly and then blinks.
Zachary reaches out and touches softest fur. He can feel each breath beneath his hand, the thunder of a massive heartbeat, and then the creature blinks again and turns away, allowing the torchlight to catch the length of its long ears and the fluff of its tail before it disappears.
Zachary stares into the darkness after the giant white rabbit.
Did this all begin with a book?
Or is it older than that? Is everything that brought him here now much, much older?
He tries to pinpoint the moments, tries to sort out their meanings.
There are no meanings. Not anymore.
The voice is like a whisper made of wind.
“What?” Zachary asks aloud.
“What?” his echo answers him over and over and over.
You are too late. It is foolish to continue.
Zachary reaches back and pulls the sword from its scabbard, holding it out against the darkness.
You are already dead, you know.
Zachary pauses and listens though he does not want to.
You took a walk too early in the morning and collapsed from fatigue and stress and then hypothermia followed but your body has been buried in snow. No one will find you until spring melts it away. There is so much snow. Your friends think you are missing when in truth you are beneath their feet.
“That’s not true,” Zachary says. He does not sound as certain as he would like to.
You’re right, it isn’t. You have no friends. And all of this is a fabrication. Your brain’s feeble attempt to preserve itself. Telling itself a story with love and adventure and mystery. All of those things you wanted in your life that you were too busy playing your games and reading your books to go out and find. Your wasted life is ending, that is why you are here.