endgame 2.1 | grisha | this too shall pass
Suddenly the hotel is gone, and it doesn’t really hit Grisha for a little while that it will most likely be the last time he ever sees the hotel. Not that he’s sad to see it go, but he’s spent months there, around the same people. Like it or not, it was a way of life, and he had adapted. That could describe a lot of his life, couldn’t it? Adapting to strange or unsatisfying ways of life, and staying put, working with it rather than trying to change it for the better – not even knowing what better would be. A life without aim or direction.
And yes, it feels strange to lose this way of life, too. But for the first time in his life – rather, his existence, he sees a way forward. A direction. And he’s ready to follow it.
He’s appeared holding his sketchbook, its covers swollen with photos carefully slipped between each page. He knows that the book will likely just vanish when this is over, but if it doesn’t, he wants it with him. He scans the chairs, unsure of which is his, until his eyes land on an Adirondack chair just over there. Unpainted pine wood, still smelling faintly of the forest. A bolster pillow covered in earth-toned patterned fabric sits in the crook. He just knows its for him, and it almost makes him smile. He does smile when Valerio comes over toward him. He’s sitting not far from Runa and Finlay, and Masaki is just over there.
He reaches over and puts his hand over Valerio’s for a moment as the discussion begins, and he settles into his chair.
The question that really strikes him is why they should be allowed to leave this place and return to the living world. Finlay and Mathilde handle the bulk of the summarizing for now, giving Grisha time to ruminate on that one question.
He died, didn’t he? Twice, now. He’d had a second chance already, and he hadn’t done anything meaningful with it. He’d built himself a successful athletic career, yes, but he had done so on the shoulders of his condition, using his newfound physical quirks to excel at the biathlon’s unique challenges. What had that accomplished? Who had it helped? It had driven a wedge between him and one of his dearest friends. He didn’t use any of his winnings, just squirreled them away and continued to live in his childhood home. He traveled for races, but never went anywhere or did anything; he raced and then went home, and continued training. Training, racing, training, racing, repeat ad nauseum. He had never expected to make a lifelong career of it, but he’d blinked and five years had gone by, with nothing to show for it than a dusty box of medals under his bed.
A second chance, and he’d squandered it. Why should he deserve a third chance?
And hadn’t he, just yesterday, railed at Sute for having the audacity to try to return a woman to life. He very earnestly wondered if he shouldn’t return. That’s the way of the world, isn’t it? People die. They die every day. Life would mean nothing without death. Some people die far too young, and they don’t get second chances, let alone third chances.
There was a boy, ten years ago, who disappeared from Grisha’s school. He had died in the snow in the forest, alone, cold, and suffering from an infliction just like Grisha’s own. That boy hadn’t gotten a second chance.
What would anyone even do with third chances, or fourth or fifth. The idea of eternal life terrifies Grisha. Unceasing existence as everything around him decays and dies. He shudders at the thought. What makes this death different from any other? That he was young? That it was too soon? The same could be said for the boy in the snow.
He almost says that maybe they should not be sent back. But he can’t make that decision for anyone other than himself, he knows. It’s up to the dying to decide whether to turn back from the light. But if he stays, what is there for him? There is no death, and no life, either.
No, he understands why he needs to leave. And he vows to himself that the third time is the charm. With a third chance, he will do good with his existence.
He takes a long breath. “If we stay here,” he says to the lizard, “Then we will never leave. You saw what happened to Kagashi. We cannot live here, and we cannot die. We will die, and die, and die again, forever, in whatever hell this place is. In the end, it will break us. This unliving, undying… it is not good for a soul.”
It isn’t to say that he wished Runa, Valerio, Amita, Masaki, Rita, and Ivan had simply disappeared. But he knew how much that lingering state had bothered Runa and Valerio. How they had wished to simply move on, instead of remaining trapped in unlife as they were. It hurt him, losing them had hurt him, but he understood what they meant, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it.
“We need to go back, so that whatever was done to us can be undone. So that when we die, we will not linger. In the end, a clean break is the best.”
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
He takes Valerio’s hand in his own.
“Each of us has our own reason for wanting to return,” he says, with quiet resolve, “And they are all right. But the truth of it is that keeping us here as we are is nothing short of existential torture. If you have any compassion for our mortal souls, you should send us back.”
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