From: chuck@c-gate.net Subject: [Eva][FanFic] Largo A hiatus is a time where one finds that he's got a lazy streak about him. Mine lasted about two years. In this time, I wrote very little and concentrated most of my energy on school work. No more. I've come to the simple conclusion that my life is too valuable to spend with my nose plungedinto text books and my fingers wrirring barely literate scribbles called notes. No, I'm not quitting school, I've simply ceased to care. If to succeed is to be happy, then I choose melancholy. And this philosophy is faulty anyhow, since I could never be happy as a seething slave to the green paper god called Money. In the vein of my newfound tranquillity, I've decided to befuddle with world with Evangelion fanfiction. I take things one step at a time. And for the light-hearted, seeking WAFF, go away. While this is not pornographic in the slightest sense, it does deal with numerous issues -- most notably religion, sex, violence, and nihilism -- in very frank terms. No, this is not Politically Correct Hour with your esteemed host, Reverend Falwell. Sorry to disappoint. - Chuck Williamson _______________________________________ L - A - R - G - O F R O M = T H E = D E M E N T E D M I N D = O F CHUCK WILLIAMSON _______________________________________ "But of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die." - Genesis 3:3 "Who am I?" Shinji's stray question to none other than his own psyche remains what it was always destined to be and that is: destitute, forlorn, naked of all sentiment. Shinji has raised this baffling inquiry in introspection in what feels to be an vastly incalculable number; never rephrased to falsify it of its oblique and invaluable nature. The elementary response is not known to Ikari now, but his goal is derived of the simple obligation of discovering the core to his own self-discovery. He is a driftless child. Nothing is as it seems once perceived by his lazy azure eyes. The innocence is warped into wickedness and the wicked is thought of as admirable. Shinji was once vandalized by these pretensions. He fancied himself a weak child then, and he cannot come to terms with one simple fact: he still is. His mind is murky; no direction is clear. Some go one way, others go to the opposite, and the rest of the universe's patrons take incessant rests sitting upon the empty bus-stop called apathy. Shinji is resting now, involuntarily flexing his fingers a mere half inch in order to reaffirm his existence every four or five minutes or so. Idly, like cold slithering molasses battered by a wooden spoon, Shinji's mind operates under the scrutinizing gaze of malice mingled with incoherent fear. Children are easily lost in their own inner-turmoil and tend to isolate the world around them, and Ikari is no different from this stereotype wrought from absolute psychological truth. Stable ground is an untruth that the weak and restless guise their frailties with. Some wish they were this naive and gullible. Unbeknownst to Shinji, he also wishes for stable ground. But stable ground is not what is in store for this poor lad. Ideologically, philosophically, theologically, and above all, psychologically, Shinji is not a lucid human being of flesh and blood but a mere state of mind. Yes, he is unaware of this at the time. He's unaware of quite a number of things. Shinji Ikari is unbound of reality. _______________________________________ The boy named Shinji is sauntering, pacing, ambling; gracing the stark pavement with the reddishly raw soles of his forlorn feet concealed in their generic white tennis shoe vessels. His strides are intense; tempting the thumping beast within his chest with cardiac arrest or at the very least, utter encompassing languor. Patter, patter, patter: the shuffling feet of Shinji Ikari make funny noises pressed against the pavement although their owner barely notices. Short attention span: one of the two most memorable and ultimately disdaining stereotypes displayed from adolescents entering puberty. The other is the exalted definition of all thing; kids know all, see all, and are the gurus of the human condition. For the sake of not being redundant later on, I shall mention once and for all that despite his obligations, befuddlement, angst, and a mind brewing with surreptitious anarchy, Shinji Ikari is your average prepubescent child. He's at that awkward stage where he has yet to define himself. Such as sexual cravings. Shinji Ikari is old enough to the point where lust is no longer a stranger and at times, a welcome intruder between the child's legs. Comprehension of the process of human reproduction is somewhat rudimentary to the boy in question, yet it is a dark, dirty deed he has not come to terms with. Occasionally, in solitude, with the aid of soapy lubricants, he masturbates: his first-hand sexual experience ends there. He feels ashamed at times when others realize what meticulously explicit sexual fantasies involving many a woman involved in his fervent life lurk in the nether regions of his mind. It's etched into the dilating pupils of his eyes when he does. Needless to say, Shinji is a boy entering the stage where he is to conform to the likelihood of a man, and he's not all that happy with this idea. There are other aspects of Shinji's life that confuse him, possibly more or less relevant to his command of Evangelion Unit One and the actions taken therein. Resolution, or the lack thereof, is the excuse he uses when those around him ask him why he wanders the pedestrian scattered streets with no intention but to wear his physical self out. In reality, Shinji Ikari is being commanded subconsciously by his Creator. He doesn't mind at the moment, but he will. And at this point, there won't be much of a world around. Pacing like a caged lion will no longer be an option to young Ikari. _______________________________________ The mind is a funny thing. One moment it is lucid and chock full of hackneyed ideas; some hailed for their audacity, brilliance, renovations, sentimentality, etceteras, or criticized for their nonsensical nature. It doesn't matter how banal the facades of pseudo-intellectual notions clash together within the mind's confines, since they all belong to the one who owns them. The core of these ideas, however, are ultimately borrowed from a neighbors, molded from the prior and so on and so forth. This results in the denouncement of all ideas; a concept where all ideas are simply derivatives of a single core idea, which crept unto the primitive souls of one-cell amoebas who would eventually evolve into the barbaric cretin known as man. Granted, many revolutionaries have brought a fountain of knowledge upon this world. But, if traced back to the original concept, these too have roots to that singular source, thus rendering it just as trite as the trivial concerns of everyman who dreamt of desire, hope, aspirations impossible to surmount. What is this common idea, you ask? Simple. 'Why are we here?' _______________________________________ Answers, however, are never quite as fulfilling as the questions themselves. _______________________________________ "Sortie, Evangelion One!" WHOOSH! The towering biomechanical gollum-creature springs upon the surface. The red-orange sun shimmers, proficiently sparkling the violet exterior of Evangelion Unit One's shell, belying the fearsome god-creature within. It's stance is erect, poise, dynamic. The bestial battle cry exhumes from its gaping mouth of jagged teeth as its fists tighten. No need to conceal their vicious nature with subtlety; they've drawn blood before. Whether made by man or god or some unknown party, it does not matter; this creature is majestic. Its pilot is less so. Shinji Ikari is walking, talking, breathing apathy. Clutching the controls of Evangelion Unit One with limp hands and deadpan eyes, lips finely straightened into a no-nonsense grimace, his very being is the antithesis of his counterpart's. The Evangelion Unit One is the apotheosis of salvation. Shinji Ikari is the apotheosis of damnation. No matter. Together, as a melange of winding souls, they will defeat whatever angelic invader threatens the sanctity of what Shinji Ikari and all of Nerv is fighting for. Silence. This Angel chooses copious stealth as a requisite for survival. _______________________________________ [Two lovers in a cafe. They are replenished with naïveté, because they are young. This is a security blanket -- the dumbness of youth is rapture. They sit and chat idly of things that will later become relevant to their future.] SHINJI: Asuka... ASUKA: Shinji... SHINJI: I love you. ASUKA: (beaming) I know, Shinji. I love you too. [PAUSE] SHINJI: Asuka... ASUKA: (a beat) Yes? SHINJI: About us. We-we've come quite a long way from when were kids, huh? ASUKA: Yeah. (laughs) We were so dumb then. SHINJI: (laughs) Yeah. I remember when you called me idiot all the time. And I believed you and felt so wretched. I felt wretched because I secretly knew that I was crazy about you. You were so pretty and I was so plain. You never strayed from my thoughts. And I always imagined you were out of my reach. You intimidated me. But now I'm glad things have changed. I'm glad I can now call you 'wife'. ASUKA: As I am glad I can call you 'husband'. SHINJI: By the way, about our first child... What should we call him? ASUKA: I've been thinking long and hard about that one. Nothing comes to mind. I guess I'm no good at these things. Do you have any suggestions? SHINJI: Well... ASUKA: What is it, Shinji? SHINJI: Have you ever felt as if you were living in a dream, and that dream resulted in the hopes of a inestimable million? ASUKA: No. _______________________________________ "I've experienced many things since I came here. I was at my teacher's before. Silent and calm days. I did nothing but exist. That was fine with me. I had nothing to do." These words are solemn and cryptic and creep from Shinji's throat as eagerly as an obstinate sparrow nimbly rising from mid-winter lake. Yet it symphonically flows, oddly enough. All is well-articulated and the overall theme of the statement is one hundred percent intact. The reply comes quickly, though it resembles more of a question. "You dislike people?" "Well, I don't really care for people. Except for my father, who I hate." The words seem to drift off into the nebulous space pondering above the heads of the timid thinkers, as if shouting to the analytical, "For God's sake, help me! I'm stranded in the middle of a wasteland without a map or a drop of water or even the initiative to survive, and the least you could fucking do was give me a soft word!" Shinji turns his head over to Kaoru only to see the boy releasing yet another of his traditionally warm smiles. With a slight chortle, he says, "I might have been born to meet you." It's ironic to think that an Angel knows more of human nature than the humans themselves. _______________________________________ So: How did an Angel know what makes a human tick better than a human? Convictions. Kaoru Nagisa has an inherent belief that human compassion is the universal weapon to overcome all hardship. He once stated in his brief existence that human hope is the thread of sadness. Too true. But it is that same hope that brings man one step closer, striving for that single moment of solace where all is resolved and absolute beatitude reigns. Being an outerworldly being born of the natus de Adamo, nevertheless, threw a monkey wrench into this idealistic theory. Without much argument, any and all would unanimously agree that Kaoru Nagisa was a philosopher and scholar of the human condition, but he was no more human than the husky sidewalk that Shinji Ikari is currently pat-pat-pattering upon. The cobweb frailty of human spirit is a house of cards and the slightest flicker of a wrist would send the entire foundation to the ground. This was an alien concept to Kaoru Nagisa. _______________________________________ It is at this precise moment -- seven point two seconds prior to the episode with Kaoru Nagisa -- that Shinji Ikari begins to realize something is amiss. He feels a thousand layers of himself rising from the pulsating core of his translucent soul. A plethoric supply of himselves drift upon the endless plains parallel to those Shinji himself felt himself pattering along. It was a violating feeling; something that retained a semblance of rape. A crimson alarm boomed within his mind, but Shinji was figuratively deaf to its cry. Life was too monotonous for him to disturb the natural order of whatever chaos was brewing behind the seams of reality. Thus, the show went on. _______________________________________ Misato Katsuragi is drunk. With the slightest, most timid whiff, Shinji noted with slight bemusement that his spurious foster mother's breath was rank with choice beverages and her skirt was half undone, wrinkled by Misato's jolty, jerky gesticulations. Her stagger was somewhat graceful amid the haphazardly strewn burial site for many a beer can; and the strides taken into her disarrayed, modest room justified this thought. Shinji marveled at the grandiose site of Misato's drunken stupor, envisioning her as the Greek goddess of love, Aphrodite. In crept the fantasy. As his muse and part-time lover, Shinji would serve affably as his goddess' beloved and most cherished man-servant. He would be a bard; dedicating page after page of endless metaphors and eloquent flatteries set by iambic meter strictly in devout worship of her beauty. Many a night would he lie by her side in an orchard of rose pedals, and nymphets would sing the two lovers lullabies that would probably sound like a symphony from Brahms. Immortal life would be granted upon Shinji's span, thus making those eternal promises to stay with his goddess forever would be justly so; well kept. A panorama of illicit sexual snippets slithered into the sanctums of Shinji's mind. The two would wear toga's before and after love making, affably ceasing the hindersome process of dressing and undressing. Honey dew would be used, as would bountiful barrels of grape flavored wine. In successions of hours, the pair would bathe the partner's eager warm body in the drink and lap in the exotic juices, resulting in... Misato's strength rivals that of a titan; for when she shuts the door, it does not merely shut but slams. This stirs Shinji awake from his dreamscape. _______________________________________ Shinji is now three hundred eighty four years old and is dead and decomposing six feet beneath the ground. The spirit is restless however and the withered figure of a man resembling what was once a spineless, whimpering child in the velvet night, spending the lost witching hour erect in front of his ancient gravestone. The spectral visitor notes that his tombstone is tarnished with decrepit age. It is haggard and gray and above all, collapsing. Shinji, nevertheless, pities it. At least it still has an earthbound form. "Is this the result of death? An eternity musing over what once was and never shall be again?" He reads the inscription upon his tombstone: "Here Lies Shinji Ikari: Never Shall There Rest A More Contrived And Ultimately Banal Human Being." And below that, sloppily scrawled in plain bold spray-painted letters were these words: "Why are we here?" Shinji's ghost sighs. "What a sad fate. Millions of years of evolution, only to realize that we are the deevolved formation of the grand intention." _______________________________________ Endless corridor. Gendo Ikari looks down at Shinji Ikari, eyes gazing, penetrating, surveying, finalizing the rough draft of what should be. "I have a job for you." Silence. "Yes?" A sanguine smirk. "Liberation. Make yourself useless to those of lucrative lusts and break free of this tyranny called reality. I give you this mission with my utmost regards, dear son, for you carry the fate of all humanity atop your shoulders. Forgive me, Shinji... This burden was made for you to carry, and therefore, you must carry it and carry it alone. As your father, I wish to see the glorious future where you may wake one morning without fear of being erased from the continuity of the universe. I need this assurance. Good luck, my son. We shall never see each other again." With this typically dispassionate epitaph, Gendo Ikari's left hand falls to a side sheath loosely buckled onto his belt and unsheathes a revolver; dankly black and almost comic displayed against his fatigued, gloved fingers. For a faltering second, Gendo Ikari seems to parody the role of the embittered Russian Roulette contestant as he stuffs the barrel into his throat with a singular motion of the arm. He squeezes the trigger, leaving a charred hodgepodge of flesh and skull as a fanciful remembrance of what once was Gendo Ikari. The quagmire of crimson splattered upon the iron wall behind his corpse beckons the cold reality of death's welcoming. Upon witnessing this demise, Shinji Ikari remains as silent as a stillborn. There is blood on his face. It is very, very warm. _______________________________________ In silent accord to a father's wish, Shinji Ikari unwittingly accepted what was to be his final mission under the militant command of Nerv and divine mandate of God Almighty. Reality warped to his most profound desire, however, in a feeble attempt to distract the youth from fulfilling his appointed task. _______________________________________ If Aprodite had been an alcoholic, then Misato was her terrestrial form. But Aprodite was a fairy-tale and thus, Misato was a naturalistic beauty born of the same tedious process of reproduction as all humans are. To the warped mind of Shinji Ikari, however, she was the goddess in a celestial guise and the boy fancied himself her champion; the appropriate heir to her hand in wedlock. The mad, spontaneous thoughts darted to and fro inside his brain as his shaky hand tightened itself around the cold, coarse doorknob, wrist twisting decorously, followed by the mass of his puny body pushing against the hinges, revealing his prize in shrouds of darkness. Shinji sees Misato, stretched out on the bed like some slyly rambunctious kitten. _______________________________________ Fiery and temperamental as tradition would have it, Asuka slaps Shinji across the face; hard. Her hand lashes across his cheek as if it were a prodding brick broiled in an inferno. Lacerating pain wrings the very being of the boy as his own fingers reach the wound in the hopeless solace of the elementary medical treatment of rubbing the irritated area. But the pain is pesky, persistent, and above all, perpetual. Tears well in the boy's eyes as he stutters, "W-Why did you do that?" Asuka's curt reply: "You idiot! Can't you see that this whole situation is a ruse fabricated to keep you away from your destiny?" "But... but... I can't control it." "Buffoon. Of course you can't. Outsiders have noticed the sexual tension between you and Misato from day one. It's an unwritten convention: no matter how much Shinji denies his feelings toward Misato, he will always inadvertently lust her. It's a purely physical attraction, I'll admit. But why would anyone want it to go farther? She is twice your superior in the age department, after all." "Asuka... Who created this logic?" She cracks a very sardonic grin. "God." _______________________________________ I suppose now would be an appropriate time to discuss Shinji's relationship with God, or more specifically, religion. The result is: What is this relationship? Gendo Ikari, being a realist as well as a scientist, never truly found merit in the religious teachings of yore, no matter which dogmatic denomination it was. In his view of a world in black and white, each and every religion proclaimed one solitary thing: There is an order to the world and the reason for this is a Creator. This muddled, and in the end, contradicted Ikari's views on the foundation of the universe's natural law. His life was consistently chaotic and voraciously merciless. When this 'God' granted him with a mission, a goal, his lifework; 'He' stripped him bare. Without love, without hope, without the requirements beset to make his dreams a reality, Gendo mused what sort of 'God' would do this? So Gendo opted to ignore the existence of such a deity, or any deity for that matter. It was a silent resolution, and quite possibly, one of the least profound ones Ikari had ever dealt with. Gendo was never the type to ponder on theological circumstances; not even when his stone-cold eyes scanned the brittle pages of the prophesying Dead Sea Scrolls, not even when countless sentient lifeforms maliciously attacked; not even when undeniable proof was spilled before him, 'God' was always far from his mind. Nevertheless, though he would not admit it, God was always lurking about there. To him, religion was the basis of how to explain the unexplainable. Nothing more. Later in his life, Gendo reconciled and reconsidered these conflicting emotions and wound up being one and one thing alone: confused. Henceforth, Shinji was raised agnostic. He didn't know God and personally wouldn't care to. In conclusion, even when God Himself made a public appearance, Shinji had more pressing issues to deal with. _______________________________________ Misato's pupils flutter, stressing a temperate desire for the binding companionship. She is sober now. This grand metamorphosis affects not only her personality -- which is now calmly collective and scorchingly seductive -- but the ensemble of clothing worn. Long gone is the humdrum combination of a plain red jacket and darkly tinted skirt. Tidings of welcome from the contours of her elegant, eloquently crafted body arouse Shinji, for she now wears a taut black brassiere and a pair of nylon panties of the same hue, offset somewhat by a small red rose darting directly between her legs. Shinji breaths hard as he steps forward. _______________________________________ With an almost piteous expression of utter apathy, Rei Ayanami frowns upon the squatting figure of Shinji Ikari. She notes that the boy is shivering now, perhaps sniffling, but without the slightest detection of tears. By further inspection, she realizes that he is biting his bottom lip to the point where a ring of blood traces over his teeth. Desperation permeates over his face. "What is the matter, Ikari?" "I can't... stop... this..." "Perhaps it is something which must carry through its course." "But... what if I don't want it to stop?" Rei's tone draws to the point of a vague whisper at this point. "I allow you to choose your own fate, Shinji." _______________________________________ "Shinji..." The boy's rasping breaths become even more husky under this intoxicating episode. "Yes, Ms. Misato?" "No more formalities. Call me Misato. Just... Misato." Her hand strikes forth, like a serpent toward its prey, fingers like fangs dripping with cherry-flavored venom, her own mouth twisted into what could be the smirk of a self-aware dominatix. The hand wrenches itself over Shinji's shirt, fisting a handful of white cloth and drawing the tense boy forward. Shinji has little time to react rationally as he tumbles atop her bed alongside his pseudo-foster mother. Succumbing to her touch, he finds himself cradled in her arms. Consequently, his loins are on fire. _______________________________________ On some other plain of disexistence, Shinji Ikari is sauntering across the sidewalk. But no other denizens stride beside him. He is alone in the vibrant city of electronic lights and the radiant moon, cowering above, away from the fearsome creatures below. The moon is a wise one indeed, for creating an omission between itself and the people that rape and pillage what it holds more dear than the infinite craters upon its broad, resonant face. _______________________________________ "I want you to take me, Shinji. I want your first time to be with me." Misato's voice is that of a teasing pigeon; cooing fanciful and accentuated promises but implying very little. Reaching behind and unfastening her bra with a resounding triple snap, her breasts are unbound. They are ripe; like plump cantaloupe fresh from the summer fields. They fall upon her chest, lying firm, luciously appealing. Her nipples are erect, resembling a pair of eraser stubs, but with bulging pink aureole. A jagged scar zigzags between them -- an arguable flaw that just may add to the allure. She beckons for Shinji to place his hand upon one of them. He accepts the invitation, his mind clouded with teenage lust. _______________________________________ Rei is erected upon a platform, a podium of sorts, complete with risers and rafters and a spotlight that shines solely on her. In the comic light of the situation, she lampoons the composure and mannerism of Adolf Hitler. This is not a rally for the Nazi party, however. This is something much more tragic; the persecution of Shinji Ikari. "What is it going to be, Shinji?" Rei asks, her voice nominal. Shinji is below, as per usual. "I don't know. I... can't control... myself... It's like watching an opposing reflection..." "Shinji Ikari, the one who controls the destiny of Shinji Ikari is you and only you. You must put every part of your being into rebelling against whatever is controlling you -- whether it is your own impudent yearnings or some... higher power. The fate of yourself rests in the palm of your hand." "I know. But I don't know whether I can conquer over both." "There is only one way to truly comprehend your own boundaries: that is to try." _______________________________________ The breast is a soft, luminescent orb resting in Shinji's palm. He timidly squeezes, taking tender hold of the engorged nipple and rubbing hisfingers over the flesh around. An audible moan escapes Misato's throat; one which Shinji had often cherished in muted fantasy in the one-fisted loneliness entrapped in his bedroom, late at night. Shinji swallows hard, and from doing so, allows his throat to produce a loud, clicking sound. "I don't think we should do this, Ms. Misato." "You worry too much, Shinji," she cooed into his ear. "Don't worry, I would never tell Kaji. Not in a million years." "No... Ms. Misato... we can't..." "Hm? Let me guess, you're agnostic towards women as well?" She says this with a tinge of dark humor as she cups his forlorn left hand and guides it in the direction of her pelvic area. Shinji is promptly a conglomerate of putty and testosterone; the aroma is intoxicating. But, Shinji still retains a minute speck of free-thought. And as much as it would kill him to make the right decision, Shinji thought of the solemn promise made to his father. He would find some twisted truth to these words. He would complete his final mission. Why should he though? Isn't this Gendo Ikari the same man who jeopardized the life of his only begotten son? Nevertheless, life goes on. Unless you happen to be Gendo Ikari, that is. "Misato, I can't. I'm sorry, but I just can't do this." Shinji removes his hands from Misato's luciously tense body, the sweat permeating his palms acting as velcro. He excuses himself from the bed in hushed accordance, his head hung low and his hormones toning down. Now Misato speaks forcefully, in what sounds like a thousand Misato's mingling together to form a singular organism. "Shinji. I will not allow you to leave me. I've waited too long for this moment, and I will not allow you to walk out. Everyone's watching, Shinji. You can't let them down now." The words are meaningless against Shinji's idle ears as he gives Misato one final glance and turns around, toddling off toward the door. Outside of this door, he steps into an elevator, and after the elevator reaches the bottom floor, where he saunters through the exit door and into the harsh streets of the rancid city. All of these things are familiar to Shinji at this point, but never had these sites held such deeper symbolic beauty. _______________________________________ And Shinji did walk down that sidewalk, his feet shuffling with a soft pitter-patter, his clammy hands thrust into his depthless pockets and eyes upturned to the world around him. Beyond the people and the man-made monstrosities sitting upon the throne of the opulent, Shinji was looking for a sign; something that would lead him in the right direction. Eventually, the lights dimmed slightly and the people walking alongside him vanished. The sounds of a living world were cut to nonexistent decibel levels. Lights flashed and the moon beckoned Shinji in a single direction. He was still looking, looking, looking for a sign. And at last, he found one. A run-down theater, an antique of the past millennium, decayed by vengeful age. According to the posters and illuminated billboards, the matinee for that evening was a feature film whose name Shinji found ghastly ironic to the situation at hand. The name of the film was none other than this: End of Evangelion. _______________________________________ "Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made. And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden? And the woman said unto the serpent, We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden: But of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die. And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die: For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil." Rei was reading from a bulky tome of brittle pages. When Rei's hands slipped through the cracks of paper, they snapped and crackled and Shinji felt every audacious sentiment splayed from this simple gesture. "That was beautiful," Shinji commented. "What is it from?" As her face loosened its grip from the book, Rei gave Shinji a grave look. "The Holy Bible. A verse from the book of Genesis." "Oh." "To fully comprehend is to die, Shinji. Once we perceive all of the inner boundaries not meant for human consumption, there is no feasible reason to live. The mystery of all things prevails. When one unlocks the door to the murky sea of knowledge, they drown. And what else is there to do? Life is an endless quest for answers, and the only way most are ever obtained is through death itself. Besides, who does not wish to be under the security of ignorance. When the eyes are open, the world is naked and bare and nothing can cloth it ever again. Did you not know this, Shinji?" "No." "I am glad to teach you then." "Me too." _______________________________________ The theater is a barren wasteland of empty seat, arranged in atypical vertical order that seems to dissuade the concepts of aisles and affable elbow room. If this cinema were full, it would be a satirical sight indeed. Imagine: thousands of bodies contorted into pretzel-like positions, shuffling and shifting restlessly in hopes of finding that one perfect position. Nevertheless, it is empty now. Shinji has a variety of choices on where he should rest himself, and he finds a happy medium, directly in the center; a neutral figure. Shinji has grown accustom to this position throughout the years. The screen gleams with malicious intentions. It is a visage of truth; beckoning Shinji on toward his preordained fate. And as the lights dim into ebony and the cackle inside the projectionist's booth is heard, Shinji's vacuous eyes meet with the cumulative tranquillity of meeting what lies behind his mask. What has he been hiding within himself from the beginning of his conception? Why are we here? The show is on. _______________________________________ It is now early in the life of Shinji Ikari. He is around eight or nine. He is alone. His innocence is teetering in the balance, shifting more in favor of sinful raptures. Dirty words, no matter how malpracticed, can and will be murmured from his lips. Sex is an enigma, but he knows enough of it and is curious to know more. Sometimes, when blankly glaring at the shadowy surfaces penetrating his room, he wishes some bad people would die; especially his father. The world is no longer broadcast in black and white. Shinji Ikari is evolving. He is now a thinking creature. Rationality is something of a budding satisfaction; a smarmy sort of feeling. Shinji begins to find fault with himself. Shinji now knows that he will die one day. That day could be any day because he is not immortal. The youth named Shinji Ikari now plays in the sandbox. He is alone. This is typical for such an independent child. In actuality, he is not as independent as he is branded to be, but more or less lonesome. He's an introvert by nature and finds only pain when human interaction is played into effect. These are regrettable faults found by the obtuse parenting endured. _______________________________________ Groan. Rasping breath. Groan. Sloshy sounds follow. Muffled groans."I'm the lowest." The cinematic Shinji has a tendency to state the blatantly obvious. The initial shock of seeing himself transubstantiate into the film's protagonist has ended. Certainly, he was aghast to witness the opening scene wherein he delves into what would appear to be mild necrophiliac pleasures. And as time allows, Shinji watches on. His cinematic father is as stern and choleric and anal-retentive as the one Shinji grew accustom to in reality. Rei is destitute; a shallow well suffering an endless drought of emotions and Asuka's passionate return made Shinji get weepy. Misato is Misato; compassionate, endearing, obstinate, willing to topple over adversity, displaying momentous bravery in the haggard face of danger, all in the name of duty. Shinji found disgust at his own characterization, however. Was he truly this spineless? The cinematic Shinji moped and moaned, never allowing anguish to escape his chaotically cluttered mind of dubious pessimism. What a revolting toad he must truly be! No revelations concerning the storyline phase Shinji in the slightest however. Those all seem like a distant dream; one which would completely recover in due time. _______________________________________ "And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth." Rei's mechanical voice began to sharpen into a more melodious tone as she read more and more from her dusty, constantly cackling manuscript. Shinji's mind was stunned in muted appreciation by the philosophy found therein. He now lies on his back, appeased with the tranquillity found in this simplistic, almost vague thread of reality. "Rei?" Her crimson eyes screwed up slightly and stead themselves over Shinji. "Yes?" "If what God said is true, and we all come from His image, does that make us all Gods as well? If that's the case, wouldn't an abundance of Gods muddle things up?" "No, Shinji. The world is not overrun with Gods and Goddesses. It is simply infested with parasitic people who think they are above Him." _______________________________________ Evangelion Unit One's gallant stance remained at a standstill for five tense seconds. These are five of the most vital, introspective, and inauspicious moments of Shinji Ikari's life. This is that heartfelt moment where he finally came face to face with the Creator of Man and ultimately decided what he wanted out of this farce called life. _______________________________________ It goes without saying that these truncated splices of reality splayedover the foundation of Ikari's sanity was proving wearisome on the poor boy. His befuddlement was almost teasing in nature, for that one presumably true him -- lying upon his bed of disarrayed sheets and undying sweat, contorting his fingers ever so often -- lived on. Although Shinji was fully aware that this was an empty husk of flesh and skin, he could not help but miss the solace of being whole. He found himself yearning the simplicity of leading the elementary life of the ignorant. He could have forgotten this nonsense altogether, but one thing drove him forward: Ayanami's startling interpretations from the Holy Bible. It was her theological viewpoints that overwhelmed all within his heart, included his father's vexatious last wish. _______________________________________ "And the Lord God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever: Therefore the Lord God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was taken." Shinji was startled. "Is that why we're here? As punishment for the crimes of original sin?" For a brief moment, Shinji was convinced that his companion was without a fallible reply. Nevertheless, once the gears shifted in her head for one or two milliseconds, she replied thoughtfully, "I don't think so. God should have known better. Man is never content and in light of this, has made a thousand Edens for him to rape. It was the Lord's intention to keep us dumb, naked, and pure. However, upon devouring the forbidden fruit of knowledge, we were doomed -- doomed to think for ourselves, and find nothing but frustration in the midst of higher thinking. Clouds prevail the human mind. That cloudiness is God. I suppose he considers that a small practical joke." "So, why are we here?" "Where else should we be?" _______________________________________ End of Evangelion is fucked up beyond redemption. It is not a happy movie. This is good for Shinji, since it is seems to be an unofficial biography of himself, and if any piece of celluloid is going to be dedicated to his melancholy melodrama called life, then it had better be despondent and dreary. Shinji's virginal eyes seem to be dissected in layers as the harshly beautiful imagery rapes his mind of what should come in the course of his future. Lilith's embodiment takes flight into the heavens, taking Shinji's thoughts along with her in tow. Could it be that this has already happened and the world is long-gone? Perhaps his own life is a facade to conceal the authenticity that was scattered in philosophical bursts within this ninety minute dramatization. He was confused, and not because it was a confusing movie. What sort of magnificent lie of a life had he been leading for so many years now? _______________________________________ "What's wrong, Shinji? You look sick." Asuka could barely pass as a caring soul. The tone in her voice was caustic, along with her hands-to-hips body language which often translated as, "You're an idiot. A insignificant, hopeless idiot." Shinji turned his head in her direction, a twisted smile jarring from his quivering lips. "I'm so close, Asuka. I can feel the Doors of Heaven opening. I'm going to hold a council with God Almighty. Then... only then... will I ever have my answers." Another smarmy smirk. "Shinji, you idiot. You're going to find nothing more than the same vague frustration that permeates your being as we speak. A simple chit-chat with God isn't going to make the slightest bit of difference. He's as clueless as you or I; possibly moreso. Think of him as your own father. Think of him as the father of fathers. What sort of father ever knows what bestial mysteries lurk within his own childrens' minds and souls. You're leading a lost crusade, Ikari." "Then what is worthwhile, in your opinion?" "Simple: I want you to give our child a name." "Shut up, Asuka. If anyone is bewildered, it's you. I don't want to speak with you ever again." And he never did. _______________________________________ Ironically enough, Gendo Ikari, Shinji's natural genetic father, once made a very scrupulous statement outside the presense of his son. It was this: "I wish to become the Messiah of the modern-age. If there is a single flaw about me, it proves my humanity and therefore strikes me earthbound. Shinji is that flaw." Of course, Shinji Ikari is unaware of this statement, as he shall be forevermore. _______________________________________ The youth named Shinji Ikari now plays in the sandbox. He is alone. This is typical for such an independent child. In actuality, he is not as independent as he is branded to be, but more or less lonesome. He's an introvert by nature and finds only pain when human interaction is played into effect. These are regrettable faults found by the obtuse parenting endured. A shadow looms over the minuscule sandbox and childish occupant. Shinji looks above and there stands a man. Or at least it looks like a man. The flesh of this man is pinched deliberately with age; to Shinji's immense baby eyes, he could have been three hundred years of age or older. Silver streams of hair haphazardly dart from left to right; his head is a mop of the stuff. The man wears a nondescript white shirt and narrow black pants that plume on his slender body. His face is an enigma; sincere, yet at the same time, tragic. And the man says this: "Never shall there rest a more contrived and ultimately banal human being." "What, mister?" There are now tears welling from the faucets of the old man's eyes. "Why are we here?" Jolts of childish, tumultuous electricity flow through the boy's tiny frame. "To play with me, mister! So come on, let's build a sand castle!" So they did. And it was a fine sand castle, taller than the child himself, and more eloquent than anything he had seen in his mother's old history books. He screeched in approval and ran madly through the playground. The elder smiled at the naiveté of unrivaled and immaculate happiness as he consequently blinked out of existence. _______________________________________ Now it is time to detail Shinji's brief confrontation with God: Serenity slipped through Ikari's veins as the ethereal light pierced Evangelion Unit One's entry plug. It felt warm, liberating, invigorating. Shinji nearly collapsed at the sensual turbulence tingling from his fingertips, flowing into the rest of his body as God's cosmic adoration became the limelight of this miraculous moment. Sparkles of moist starlight embedded themselves into the boy's tear-stained eyes and everlasting mercy shed its brilliance upon the child. Apparently, age had no hindered the Lord's grand entrances. The voice of God was a booming baritone; leaking into the entry plug with ease and penetrating the eager ears of Shinji Ikari. It had a melodious undercurrent which made every word articulated into romantic poetry. "Do not fret, child. I am the Resurrection." "Finally... it's finally happened..." "I am Alpha. I am Omega. I am the Divine Creator, the Salvation. I am the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. I am the Lord of Heaven and Earth." "My God..." "Precisely." Shinji was beside himself with melange of glee and regret and typical human fear. This was his moment of redemption. He had best not undermine his objective. "The brevity of this encounter must be preserved. What do you wish to ask?" A single question came to Shinji's tired brain: "Why are we here?" "It is my will." "Could... could you possibly be more specific... please?" "Well, child. If I were to discuss the fundamental mission of each and every living thing, this sermon would last a good millennium or two. Just know that every life, no matter how seemingly meaningless, serves a purpose in my divine plan." "And... what about me? What is my purpose?" "I'm afraid, child, that I cannot answer that. I do not know." Aghast, Shinji's throat trembled the two words that would result in a revelation that would ultimately bring an end to the universe altogether. "Why not?" "Because, you are not my son." "I... don't understand." "Let me bring you to light: Your heavenly father is earthbound. You are the brainchild of the bouts with his own internal conflicts. He is a creator by nature and you were revealed to become one of his most endearing children. Within the dank confines of his mind, he modeled an ideal universe for you and others to roam. He made you the salvation of this universe; its Christ figure, so to speak. However, he wished to humanize you. Henceforth, you were born without a the stereotypical traits of the common savior. You were a coward, you were timid, you were perplexed, you were occasionally lecherous. And you were embraced by millions because of this. They could open themselves to you. They could associate themselves with you because you are as imperfect as they are. "Your name became infamous in the outside world. Greed, that verdant beast of a thousand fingers, followed your pilgrimage. Many sought to milk you for their own lucrative desires; to make you their slave. You were a strand of hope that encouraged a downpour of acidic wealth. You were the world's son because you were profitable and diminutive in stature. "But, now is a time when reality and time have jettisoned you into this nebulous state. Now is the moment where you must choose the destiny for not only yourself, but the cosmos. They are dead weight now. I must warn you, that preserving them, though perhaps for the better, with alter all that you know. It will eliminate the securities that you have erected with your actions. But you leave the world idle... this may spell a dismal fate upon your neglected macrocosm. "Good luck, Shinji. I shall be with you. Always. I love you as if you were my own child." And with that, He was gone. _______________________________________ Rei's expression was eager though her monotonous disposition spoke otherwise. "What did God say to you?" Looking much like the weeping forlorn child that haunted the fabric of his own past, Shinji met with Rei's firm gaze. "He told me that our life is a fraud. We were created to serve the simple purpose of entertaining those lost on the higher plane of existence. We encourage nothing but greed and egotism. We are marketable assets. We are currency in any language." The blue-haired girl nodded. "The truth and its convictions are tumultuous, are they not?" Nodding, Shinji went on: "God gave me the choice of how this universe will be saved. I hope I have chosen right." "And what did you choose?" Rei brought her possessive Biblical relic to her breasts, crossing her arms over them. Her face was a mask of atypical curiosity, much like a bubbly child's regard with all and everything. "I wrestled with numerous considerations. I had one that I was particularly fond of: I had a father and mother who loved me. I was no longer a boy, but a man, and taking Asuka as my bride, I lived a completely ordinary lifestyle; completely free of the tyranny that I've grown accustom to. We had both matured quite a lot and we were sitting in a cafe, debating over what we should name our child. Outside of the homelife, I made the most vain wish a boy could ever imagine. I was a concert cellist." He laughed. "Matter of fact, I sometimes imagined myself in an orchestra, playing one of Bach's Cello Suites, or perhaps taking the role of one of the vital string instruments present in Schubert's Death and the Maiden Quartet. I don't know. I just remember that I was happy with whatever I was doing and I felt good about myself." "You did not choose this resolution however." "No. I found it all too tedious and artificial. I do not deserve something one-dimension without earning it. Therefore, I made a more rash decision. I destroyed The Machine." _______________________________________ Shinji is in the boiler room. It is humid and uncomfortable, yet dank and dingy. The smell of antiquity is revolting and Shinji holds his nose with idle fingers. In the other hand, strenuously gripped by determined digits, he holds a crowbar, rusted with age, but still proficient at what it does best, which could be an obvious metaphorical understatement by glancing at its two thorny teeth. The halls within this dreary place are infinital; narrow trails that lead to nowhere and result in Shinji's resolving befuddlement. Rows of oblong mechanical organisms, draped in colorless wires and metal tubules, grace this stretch of endless space. They closely resemble furnaces, though without implacable infernos and yet resembling a more nefarious contraption instead. Each one is five feet tall and robust, bearing an insignia and a name. Most names are alien to Shinji. Miles and miles and miles; they seem to go on forever and Shinji follows the trail, his weary eyes inspecting each and every one cautiously. To make a long story short, Shinji finds the one he is looking for. It is labeled 'Neon Genesis Evangelion', writ in plain, cumbersome letters. Below, scrawled in spray-paint, Shinji mumbles the now notorious message of ultimate enlightenment: 'Why are we here?' "Good question," Shinji murmurs to himself as he raises his crowbar to the heavens and lets it fall with dreadful fury. His arms return to their former position and he repeats the process. Again. Again. He does so voraciously now, with each blow, his rage grows stronger. He continues on with his meticulous annihilation of the universe until nothing is left of The Machine but fragments of shrapnel and electrically sparkling bits of wire. _______________________________________ Shinji Ikari was on the verge of weeping further, sniffling like mad under the pressure of possible persecution. "Did I make the right choice, Rei?" Rei smiled, the radiance springing from her sweet pallid face like a rosebud. "You made the most unselfish and sincere wish you could have. I am proud of you. I think of you as... a beloved son. I love you." "Rei..." "Yes?" "Before this is over, would you read me another passage from the Bible. Something outside of Genesis. I know! Why don't you show me your favorite passage. I'd love to hear you read it." The undying brilliance of Rei's ravishing smile was like the embers of a dying fire. Shinji adored it; he embellished it with nostalgia every passing second, for it could possibly be the last. "I know this verse by memory. It is the verse that I find the most comforting. It is also the most beautiful. It is this: For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." A pause, flooded with Shinji's insistent bawling. "Sometimes... I think there's so much beauty in the world... I just want to swallow it whole and make it mine. I'll miss it. I'll miss it so much. I'll miss it with all of my heart..." _______________________________________ The closing credits flow like a river of black and white upon the theater's screen. The film is over and the projectionist is no where to be found. The house lights pick up and there is not a soul stirring in attendance. The show is finally over. _______________________________________ It is now the year 2015 AD. God's in His Heaven. All's right with the world. Fin. Chuck Williamson - 11/27/99 Send C&C and flames to: Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/ Before you buy.