Second Impact was man's attempt to weild the hands of godhood. It brought
them low, cleansing much of their population. It reshaped the world and
set billions of souls screaming into the night. Those that remained had
to struggle the remains of their proudest era.stub
Japan, being an island nation, was among the worst affected. The seas
had rised dramatically, drowing their interlocking coastal metropolis'
(es?). The children who had grown immidiately following Impact were in
a world vastly reduced, vastly sapped of its vibrant exuberance. The age
before them could only be recast into the apex of humanity. It was a
time of reckless motion that they might never achieve again; a-brimming
with ideas, many of which sank under the sea or set aside in the call
for survival.
Shinji Ikari grew up along the hills, which had turned into the new
coastlines. He lived there with his uncle and aunt, who though cared for
him still set themselves remote. They had lost their own son in the
Impact, and taking care of Rokubungki's child could not truly fill that
emotional void. In a house without smiles, Shinji only learned to be
silent and obedient; further deepening the dissimilarity between the
child they once had, a boy full of laughter and easy tears.
He did not expect much from his guardians. As he never asked for anything,
they took it as a sign he was content. That it was how he liked things.
He as a consequence grew without lavish attention, without toys, without
the competetive bonds of playmates. He watched silently as the others
played, bragged and then combined their amusements. Apathy was his proof
against envy.
It was before he discovered the cello, the solitary music, and the
gentle stirrings of the classicals. Before that, he had the sea. He
would walk back then at the edges of bitten cliffs and the new worn
beaches, watching the unceasing motion of the tides beating powerfully
against rock. Lying there, staring up at the sky, letting the sounds fill
him and consume him - he felt a part of something greater. It reminded
him that man was small, that such needs and such painful emotions were
as nothing at all.
The latter half of the twentieth century was a glut of entertainment.
It all but vanished as studios sank under the waves and efforts were
funneled into the practical. That left a somber land and a somber
people.
Shinji grew up without frivolous TV shows, without the spread of manga
or the glorious wrath of Godzilla. The few books around the house and
at school were simple texts, intended mainly to be instructional than
entertaining.
One day, as he lay there, as if daring the sea to make that surge and
swallow him up; it all changed.
For the sea did surge, and the waves did flow over him, and he gasped
and flailed and something big and black rose along with the tides to
clonk him upside down the head.
He washed back up on shore. Shinji rubbed at his head; and he thought
it pitiful that for those brief moments he thought he was going to
die it was nonetheless the most exciting thing to ever happen to him.
His heart was still pounding, his skin cold and over-sensitive. He
felt so thoroughly alive just then.
The waves seemed to push the black object further to him, trying to
get him to accept it. Shinji decided to haul what turned out to be
a big black suitcase away from the sea.
It was made of tough plastic, and sealed shut with protective hard
plaster lining at the seams. He was alone there, as he preferred. It
wasn't that far from his house, but in the aftermath of Second Impact
many properties still remained abandoned. Shinji gave in to curiousity
and decided to open in. In any other point in time he would have
sheepishly brought it over to a person in any authority, even someone
slightly older. Right then however, he was still filled with his
first shot of adrenalin and his head throbbed enough to interfere with
common sense. He brought it over to a slab of flat rock, and broke
the seals. The suitcase lock had only three digits, and was easy
enough to crack.
Inside, were books. Big, colorful books, and utterly unlike anything
he had ever seen before. Packed to the side were little figurines in
dynamic poses, painted in exqusire detail. Skulls, monstrous figures
adorned the contents in many places, but for some reason it hardly
frightened him; he who was nervous of little mice. He picked one
book up and hesitantly ran a small palm over its glossy cover. Its
title was adorned with a strange double-headed eagle. He didn't
recognize any of the letters, being that English had yet to be taught
to his grade level... but the sight was burned into his mind. He had
to know what it said.
He opened the book, the pages crackling with newness. Illustrations,
paragraphs, numbers, all there and unfamiliar. None of it made sense.
The pictures matched the figurines, though; scenes of conflict and
death on a massive scale were clear enough. He didn't understand
anything but knew enough that he held in his hands something epic.
For the first time in his life Shinji learnt NEED. He needed it.
He needed to know what it meant. He would never let it go, never give
up this discovery. For a time, he considered burying it as a treasure
all his own, but there was the risk of someone finding and taking it.
Slowly, furtively, he pulled the suitcase back to the house. He felt
utter fear. Every shadow was a thief. Up, up, difficult as it was, he
wrestled it over stairs and into his room.
When his guardians came, he was so hesitant in his speech that they
thought he had stolen it. For the first time he felt anger. He found
it by the beach, he insisted, and it was his by right! The seaweed
and small cockle-shells clinging to the case convinced them. It
looked like it had floated for years through the bloated Pacific.
When he asked what it was, they said it was perhaps too grown-up
for him. "This... this means something." he said, suddenly too
serious, his face such a focused mask that reminded them all too much
of Gendo. Shinji pointed to the title. He took out one of the
figurines, and matched it to the frowning helmet on the cover. "I
don't know but it's this. What does it say? What is it?"
His uncle sighed. His wife disapproved of the blatantly horrendous
contents of the suitcase. "It says... Warhammer 40,000. Codex Space
Marines." Inside he was bubbling. He saw the the hope in Shinji's
eyes and shared it. It was in its own way a true treasure. It was
something for the men in that house to share; his son would have
enjoyed it as much as Shinji would... in that respect he would allow
it. He found the contents as damn cool as Shinji did.
Mine! he was shouting inside. He didn't dare look at his wife. Man
rights! Man rights! We are never too old for toys!
"What's that...?" Shinji asked. That wasn't helpful at all!
"It's in English, Shinji-kun. A different language from Japanese. You
need to know it to really see what this is all about."
The boy nodded. "Then I will learn this... ing...-lesh? I want to
learn it, uncle!"
The magic word was want. His guardians saw the selfsame determination
apparent in his father. The boy, young as he was, was ready to give
himself over to something separate from himself. If they gave away
the suitcase, literally anything might happen. Gendo was unpredictable
in such a manner, and his son, so easily following in his steps was
likewise easier to just tolerate in his odd dreams.
Besides, his uncle really wanted to play with that Dreadnought over
there. "I'll help you learn it, Shinji." He smiled. "It's okay." he
said aside. "It's educational..."
The universe of Warhammer 40,000 was already heady stuff for a grownup,
and mind-warping to a little boy. Shinji was determined to puzzle it out.
Not only was it his first exposure to creative etertainment, but of
science fiction as well. Everything else he saw was linked to Warhammer
somehow. His childish daydreams involved hunting for xenos, Titans in
the bushes, the sky above seemingly higher and bluer with the knowledge
that beyond that might be worlds like the stories. His uncle grew hooked
as well and soon put the books on prized display over at his desk. Armed
with dictionaries the two slowly figured out the mechanics of the game.
Laughter rang in that house, for the first time in many years.
"Filthy xeno! You will be cleansed from this planet!" the office worker
screamed. "In the name of the Emperor!"
"Waaaagh!" retorted Shinji, pushing a tray full of orkish figures and
paper cut-outs to stand for missing pieces. It had gotten to the point
that the two would not talk to each other except in English. And in
a martial combative style.
His wife hated it. She hated the ugly, warlike setting. She hated the
way they laid claim to the kitchen and sections of the living room as
battlefield. Most of all she hated how her husband was treating the
boy as a replacement for her son. He was forgetting, who it was that
he owed his love to. She hated how she was being cast aside, in their
rapid exchanges in a language she was not really all that familiar with.
"You're Japanese!" she screeched. "At least speak that in this house!" It
was as if they were making fun of her ignorance.
One day, while they were away, she took and stuffed all the figurines
into a sack. Space Marine and land raider, Ork mobs by the whole, Eldar
so spindly and fragile, and the horrific Chaos specially... into the
bag, out the door. She had to get it all out of the house; she had to
take back her life.
Shinji arrived, smiling and polite. He noticed their absence. He looked
frantically about; making noises, leaving messes. She snapped at him,
told him to do his homework. With such accusing eyes, he looked at her,
and he ran upstairs to get it all done.
All too soon he was back down, gasping for breath. He stood there
clutching his notebooks and waiting, as she sat by the table and
cradled her face in her hands. Minutes inched by, in silence, perhaps
she hoped he would go away. Shinji's little body shook, but he stood
there, as long as it would take. He did not dare to poke her and see
if she was asleep.
"It's gone, damn it! GONE! They're trash! Worthless, useless, trash!"
she screamed at him suddenly. "I THREW IT ALL AWAY! YOU'LL NEVER GET
THEM AGAIN!"
Shinji let out such a howl and dropped his notebooks, that she feared
he might actually attack her. Instead, he cried. He had thought as
much. "WHY?!" was all he said, between whining sobs. He had stood there
long enough that his legs were numb, locked into place. He wiped his
face on the sleevers of his shirt, staining it with snot.
"Stop that!" his aunt shouted. "I have to wash that..!"
Shinji didn't care. He felt malice for the first time. He blew his nose
but it just came out in dribbles. He turned back to her, eyes red and
sniffling... wetness down his cheeks and out his nose. "Why...?!" he
asked again.
"STOP THAT!" she screamed again. She lauched off her chair and made as
if to hit him. He shrank back, though still rooted to the spot. The aunt
grimaced and pulled back her hands... she clutched them over her laboring
chest, constricting emotions gripping her as well. She sniffled a bit
as well, her eyes starting to tear up. The boy's howling never stopped.
She was sure the neighbors, though far enough away, could hear him. "Stop
it..." she whispered. "You're not my son..."
"I'm sorry." said Shinji. "Whatever it is, I'm sorry."
"Stop it! No!" She placed her palms over hear ears and squeezed her eyes
shut. She considered herself a good person. All she wanted was some
peace! "Don't say that!"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry... I'll try to be a good boy." He coughed as air
went down the wrong pipe. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not your son. I won't
play with uncle anymore. I'll help out more with the chores." Gendo's
son wanted to kneel, but his knees were still locked. He wanted to
run away. It was so painful! Why did he have to feel that way? It was
better when there was nothing he actually liked!
"I'm sorry!" he shouted now.
She threw herself at him, her eys glittering madly, and the boy
screamed.
However, his aunt was just embracing him. She was crying into his
shoulder.
"No, I'M sorry." she sobbed out as well. My face is now full of snot,
a part of her mind noted. Being a mother is disgusting, difficult job.
Sometimes that what makes it worthwhile, to be so needed. "I'm
sorry, Shinji..."
She pulled away at wiped his tears with her apron. She had served the
domesticated wife for too long; she even wore her hair in the prim
manner so demanded by the role. Every day without her son made it all
meaningless, a ritual to forget, to immerse herself in being needed
that it only heightened her isolation.
"It is my fault... I didn't understand. I was selfish, too." she said.
She all but collapsed, and Shinji had to support her with his tiny
arms. "My son is dead! I can't... every day, I can almost hear his
voice. Kaa-san, play with me! Kaa-san, where's father? Mother, look at
me!"
Her hair came undone, she touched her forehead to his. Her bloodshot
eyes met his. "You are drowning out his voice! When you laugh, it's
like he can't be here anymore. It's like he was never here. Your room
was his room. Your clothes were his clothes... you look so much like
your mother, my sister, and me; it hurts! It hurts me! I can't let you
be my son. I can't abandon him...! I have to prove he once was!"
Neither were in any rational state of mind.
"I'm sorry..." Shinji said again.
"No!"
"I'm sorry."
"Stop saying that!"
"But I am!" he shouted. "I never wanted this! You're not my mother.
My mother is DEAD! My father doesn't want me! And I do nothing except
cause everybody pain...!"
"Shinji..."
"All I had was a place where I wasn't myself. It wasn't real... it
made me happy because it wasn't real. I hate my life! I hate it! I
hate this world!" He was grimacing so much veins in his neck were
bulging out. "But over there, without hate you can't live. They're
heroes out there. I want to be a hero. I want to die, that I did
something that was worth everything before it... and it's not even
real!"
He sniffled some more. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
His aunt drew back, staring at him in mute horror. Children were prone
to the dramatic, and in their ignorance could be the cruelest creatures.
They were also in their way heart-rendingly sincere. A child should not
be entertaining such thoughts. She could blame part of that on his
violent little hobby... but most of it, in a world and a family that had
no affection to spare.
"...humanitas..." he mumbled. "For humanity. It was so big. It was so
awesome. It was everything this stupid stupid world should have been..."
He looked up, seemingly through her, his young eyes dark and piercing.
"I want never to be alone with the brotherhood of the Space Marine. I want
to have a God-Emperor to trust with all my soul. I want the orks and their
Waaagh and their joy in being alive, and the Eldar who are all so wise
where I'm not. Even the Chaos and their demons made it all seem so
worthwhile. Everything made sense. Everything had a purpose..."
Shinji had actually gained better grades from the box; his drive to
learn English and understand the concepts in science fiction made
elementary school... well, elementary.
Much like his father, he had let himself become absorbed by something
greater than himself. The main difference was the he had swallowed a
lie rather than building an edifice of it to entrap others.
"I'm not your son..." he continued. He clenched his fists and quivered in
place. "What am I, really?"
"Shinji... I never realized it was..."
"Who is Shinji?! Someone please tell me! What am I supposed to be?" he
asked in all desperation.
His aunt slowly shook her head. "You're just a child. Shinji... you
shouldn't be thinking those things. You can be whatever you want to be,
it's still all so far away for you..."
"Whatever else other than your son..." he finished. "I'm sorry. I'm not
him. I can't ever be him. I'm sorry you thought I was trying..." he
trailed off into silence.
Crickets chirped outside, the room was stained red.
She placed her hands on his shoulder, in a posture to push him away and
sighed. "No, you can never replace my son..."
Instead, she pulled and crushed him into a hug. "But I think I can love
you anyway..."
The boy began to cry again. He was, after all, just ten.
"Baa-san."
"Shinji..."
In the growing darkness they remained, true family at last.
"Librarian!"
She blinked. That was one of the few English words she knew. What an
odd thing to yell out in such a dramatic moment. Shinji struggled to
get out of her embrace and she let him loose.
The boy tried to walk and nearly toppled over to smash his head on
the table edge; luckily he was fast enough push away with his hands.
His aunt was stunned into wide-eyed inaction.
Shinji weaved past the dining table and into the kitchen. He reached
into the shadows behind a shelf and brought out a figurine; a bald
man, scowling, in thick stubby blue armor. "Hu-waaa." the boy gasped
out. "I found it! Master Librarian of the Ultramarines!" He looked
wildly around the kitchen. He pointed to another dark area. "Is
that... is that, hey!" He rushed to over the refrigerator and pulled
out a "Dreadnought-sama!" and "Wah! Tankbusta-dono! You were fighting
again!"
Well, he was ten.
He turned around and gave her such a biiig, happy smile, so bright
and honest. "That was a dirty trick you pulled, auntie." He wanted
to hug her again, but his arms were rather already full. "But I'm
glad we had this talk."
His aunt simply sat there, her eyes glazed, her hair frazzled. She
managed to get herself to moving just in time to clean up after herself,
and present a welcoming face to her husband. Meanwhile, Shinji went
around finding Warhammer 40k figurines all over the place. He was
having fun in the odd variation of hide and seek. It made him love, for
yes he finally identified that feeling, his aunt all the more.
They never mentioned again what happened then. They got along just
fine, and it was from her that Shinji learn most of his cooking skills.
She never interfered again in the boys' (both ages) playing, and went
deliberately out of her way to allow them their time for bonding. The
miniatures were always clean and their colors bright and fresh as the
day they were painted.
-to be continued-
>>The boy, whose reading until then were limited to school books, was
>>instantly overwhelmed by the Sheer Awesome
There were simply so many ways to approach this. It all but screams
for a crack-fic. There's still going to be humor, but what made Shinji
so easy for Gendo to control, what made him such a wuss, was that he was
basically an empty shell. We never really realized why Shinji was such
a withdrawn boy. He never felt the support of a loving family, like
every other of the borderline-insane characters in that show. If
he had a family, if he had a childhood actually worth of any note, he
would have turned out differently. He would actually have had character.
He would have been NORMAL. He could have handled his problems in an
entirely reasonable manner. He would be that much more difficult to
control.
Well, as normal as a teenager that takes advice from four painted
plastic figurines in his pocket can be.
Remember, that Shinji said "It was so big. It was so awesome. It was
everything this stupid stupid world should have been..."
He still doesn't quite get how thoroughly fucked up that universe can
be. If he still somehow winds up at the center of Instrumentality...
oh, god. Emperor.
Gendo, there is no word in the human language for how thoroughly,
inescapably screwed you are. There might be one in Eldar, though.
They're assholes like that.
them low, cleansing much of their population. It reshaped the world and
set billions of souls screaming into the night. Those that remained had
to struggle the remains of their proudest era.stub
Japan, being an island nation, was among the worst affected. The seas
had rised dramatically, drowing their interlocking coastal metropolis'
(es?). The children who had grown immidiately following Impact were in
a world vastly reduced, vastly sapped of its vibrant exuberance. The age
before them could only be recast into the apex of humanity. It was a
time of reckless motion that they might never achieve again; a-brimming
with ideas, many of which sank under the sea or set aside in the call
for survival.
Shinji Ikari grew up along the hills, which had turned into the new
coastlines. He lived there with his uncle and aunt, who though cared for
him still set themselves remote. They had lost their own son in the
Impact, and taking care of Rokubungki's child could not truly fill that
emotional void. In a house without smiles, Shinji only learned to be
silent and obedient; further deepening the dissimilarity between the
child they once had, a boy full of laughter and easy tears.
He did not expect much from his guardians. As he never asked for anything,
they took it as a sign he was content. That it was how he liked things.
He as a consequence grew without lavish attention, without toys, without
the competetive bonds of playmates. He watched silently as the others
played, bragged and then combined their amusements. Apathy was his proof
against envy.
It was before he discovered the cello, the solitary music, and the
gentle stirrings of the classicals. Before that, he had the sea. He
would walk back then at the edges of bitten cliffs and the new worn
beaches, watching the unceasing motion of the tides beating powerfully
against rock. Lying there, staring up at the sky, letting the sounds fill
him and consume him - he felt a part of something greater. It reminded
him that man was small, that such needs and such painful emotions were
as nothing at all.
The latter half of the twentieth century was a glut of entertainment.
It all but vanished as studios sank under the waves and efforts were
funneled into the practical. That left a somber land and a somber
people.
Shinji grew up without frivolous TV shows, without the spread of manga
or the glorious wrath of Godzilla. The few books around the house and
at school were simple texts, intended mainly to be instructional than
entertaining.
One day, as he lay there, as if daring the sea to make that surge and
swallow him up; it all changed.
For the sea did surge, and the waves did flow over him, and he gasped
and flailed and something big and black rose along with the tides to
clonk him upside down the head.
He washed back up on shore. Shinji rubbed at his head; and he thought
it pitiful that for those brief moments he thought he was going to
die it was nonetheless the most exciting thing to ever happen to him.
His heart was still pounding, his skin cold and over-sensitive. He
felt so thoroughly alive just then.
The waves seemed to push the black object further to him, trying to
get him to accept it. Shinji decided to haul what turned out to be
a big black suitcase away from the sea.
It was made of tough plastic, and sealed shut with protective hard
plaster lining at the seams. He was alone there, as he preferred. It
wasn't that far from his house, but in the aftermath of Second Impact
many properties still remained abandoned. Shinji gave in to curiousity
and decided to open in. In any other point in time he would have
sheepishly brought it over to a person in any authority, even someone
slightly older. Right then however, he was still filled with his
first shot of adrenalin and his head throbbed enough to interfere with
common sense. He brought it over to a slab of flat rock, and broke
the seals. The suitcase lock had only three digits, and was easy
enough to crack.
Inside, were books. Big, colorful books, and utterly unlike anything
he had ever seen before. Packed to the side were little figurines in
dynamic poses, painted in exqusire detail. Skulls, monstrous figures
adorned the contents in many places, but for some reason it hardly
frightened him; he who was nervous of little mice. He picked one
book up and hesitantly ran a small palm over its glossy cover. Its
title was adorned with a strange double-headed eagle. He didn't
recognize any of the letters, being that English had yet to be taught
to his grade level... but the sight was burned into his mind. He had
to know what it said.
He opened the book, the pages crackling with newness. Illustrations,
paragraphs, numbers, all there and unfamiliar. None of it made sense.
The pictures matched the figurines, though; scenes of conflict and
death on a massive scale were clear enough. He didn't understand
anything but knew enough that he held in his hands something epic.
For the first time in his life Shinji learnt NEED. He needed it.
He needed to know what it meant. He would never let it go, never give
up this discovery. For a time, he considered burying it as a treasure
all his own, but there was the risk of someone finding and taking it.
Slowly, furtively, he pulled the suitcase back to the house. He felt
utter fear. Every shadow was a thief. Up, up, difficult as it was, he
wrestled it over stairs and into his room.
When his guardians came, he was so hesitant in his speech that they
thought he had stolen it. For the first time he felt anger. He found
it by the beach, he insisted, and it was his by right! The seaweed
and small cockle-shells clinging to the case convinced them. It
looked like it had floated for years through the bloated Pacific.
When he asked what it was, they said it was perhaps too grown-up
for him. "This... this means something." he said, suddenly too
serious, his face such a focused mask that reminded them all too much
of Gendo. Shinji pointed to the title. He took out one of the
figurines, and matched it to the frowning helmet on the cover. "I
don't know but it's this. What does it say? What is it?"
His uncle sighed. His wife disapproved of the blatantly horrendous
contents of the suitcase. "It says... Warhammer 40,000. Codex Space
Marines." Inside he was bubbling. He saw the the hope in Shinji's
eyes and shared it. It was in its own way a true treasure. It was
something for the men in that house to share; his son would have
enjoyed it as much as Shinji would... in that respect he would allow
it. He found the contents as damn cool as Shinji did.
Mine! he was shouting inside. He didn't dare look at his wife. Man
rights! Man rights! We are never too old for toys!
"What's that...?" Shinji asked. That wasn't helpful at all!
"It's in English, Shinji-kun. A different language from Japanese. You
need to know it to really see what this is all about."
The boy nodded. "Then I will learn this... ing...-lesh? I want to
learn it, uncle!"
The magic word was want. His guardians saw the selfsame determination
apparent in his father. The boy, young as he was, was ready to give
himself over to something separate from himself. If they gave away
the suitcase, literally anything might happen. Gendo was unpredictable
in such a manner, and his son, so easily following in his steps was
likewise easier to just tolerate in his odd dreams.
Besides, his uncle really wanted to play with that Dreadnought over
there. "I'll help you learn it, Shinji." He smiled. "It's okay." he
said aside. "It's educational..."
The universe of Warhammer 40,000 was already heady stuff for a grownup,
and mind-warping to a little boy. Shinji was determined to puzzle it out.
Not only was it his first exposure to creative etertainment, but of
science fiction as well. Everything else he saw was linked to Warhammer
somehow. His childish daydreams involved hunting for xenos, Titans in
the bushes, the sky above seemingly higher and bluer with the knowledge
that beyond that might be worlds like the stories. His uncle grew hooked
as well and soon put the books on prized display over at his desk. Armed
with dictionaries the two slowly figured out the mechanics of the game.
Laughter rang in that house, for the first time in many years.
"Filthy xeno! You will be cleansed from this planet!" the office worker
screamed. "In the name of the Emperor!"
"Waaaagh!" retorted Shinji, pushing a tray full of orkish figures and
paper cut-outs to stand for missing pieces. It had gotten to the point
that the two would not talk to each other except in English. And in
a martial combative style.
His wife hated it. She hated the ugly, warlike setting. She hated the
way they laid claim to the kitchen and sections of the living room as
battlefield. Most of all she hated how her husband was treating the
boy as a replacement for her son. He was forgetting, who it was that
he owed his love to. She hated how she was being cast aside, in their
rapid exchanges in a language she was not really all that familiar with.
"You're Japanese!" she screeched. "At least speak that in this house!" It
was as if they were making fun of her ignorance.
One day, while they were away, she took and stuffed all the figurines
into a sack. Space Marine and land raider, Ork mobs by the whole, Eldar
so spindly and fragile, and the horrific Chaos specially... into the
bag, out the door. She had to get it all out of the house; she had to
take back her life.
Shinji arrived, smiling and polite. He noticed their absence. He looked
frantically about; making noises, leaving messes. She snapped at him,
told him to do his homework. With such accusing eyes, he looked at her,
and he ran upstairs to get it all done.
All too soon he was back down, gasping for breath. He stood there
clutching his notebooks and waiting, as she sat by the table and
cradled her face in her hands. Minutes inched by, in silence, perhaps
she hoped he would go away. Shinji's little body shook, but he stood
there, as long as it would take. He did not dare to poke her and see
if she was asleep.
"It's gone, damn it! GONE! They're trash! Worthless, useless, trash!"
she screamed at him suddenly. "I THREW IT ALL AWAY! YOU'LL NEVER GET
THEM AGAIN!"
Shinji let out such a howl and dropped his notebooks, that she feared
he might actually attack her. Instead, he cried. He had thought as
much. "WHY?!" was all he said, between whining sobs. He had stood there
long enough that his legs were numb, locked into place. He wiped his
face on the sleevers of his shirt, staining it with snot.
"Stop that!" his aunt shouted. "I have to wash that..!"
Shinji didn't care. He felt malice for the first time. He blew his nose
but it just came out in dribbles. He turned back to her, eyes red and
sniffling... wetness down his cheeks and out his nose. "Why...?!" he
asked again.
"STOP THAT!" she screamed again. She lauched off her chair and made as
if to hit him. He shrank back, though still rooted to the spot. The aunt
grimaced and pulled back her hands... she clutched them over her laboring
chest, constricting emotions gripping her as well. She sniffled a bit
as well, her eyes starting to tear up. The boy's howling never stopped.
She was sure the neighbors, though far enough away, could hear him. "Stop
it..." she whispered. "You're not my son..."
"I'm sorry." said Shinji. "Whatever it is, I'm sorry."
"Stop it! No!" She placed her palms over hear ears and squeezed her eyes
shut. She considered herself a good person. All she wanted was some
peace! "Don't say that!"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry... I'll try to be a good boy." He coughed as air
went down the wrong pipe. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not your son. I won't
play with uncle anymore. I'll help out more with the chores." Gendo's
son wanted to kneel, but his knees were still locked. He wanted to
run away. It was so painful! Why did he have to feel that way? It was
better when there was nothing he actually liked!
"I'm sorry!" he shouted now.
She threw herself at him, her eys glittering madly, and the boy
screamed.
However, his aunt was just embracing him. She was crying into his
shoulder.
"No, I'M sorry." she sobbed out as well. My face is now full of snot,
a part of her mind noted. Being a mother is disgusting, difficult job.
Sometimes that what makes it worthwhile, to be so needed. "I'm
sorry, Shinji..."
She pulled away at wiped his tears with her apron. She had served the
domesticated wife for too long; she even wore her hair in the prim
manner so demanded by the role. Every day without her son made it all
meaningless, a ritual to forget, to immerse herself in being needed
that it only heightened her isolation.
"It is my fault... I didn't understand. I was selfish, too." she said.
She all but collapsed, and Shinji had to support her with his tiny
arms. "My son is dead! I can't... every day, I can almost hear his
voice. Kaa-san, play with me! Kaa-san, where's father? Mother, look at
me!"
Her hair came undone, she touched her forehead to his. Her bloodshot
eyes met his. "You are drowning out his voice! When you laugh, it's
like he can't be here anymore. It's like he was never here. Your room
was his room. Your clothes were his clothes... you look so much like
your mother, my sister, and me; it hurts! It hurts me! I can't let you
be my son. I can't abandon him...! I have to prove he once was!"
Neither were in any rational state of mind.
"I'm sorry..." Shinji said again.
"No!"
"I'm sorry."
"Stop saying that!"
"But I am!" he shouted. "I never wanted this! You're not my mother.
My mother is DEAD! My father doesn't want me! And I do nothing except
cause everybody pain...!"
"Shinji..."
"All I had was a place where I wasn't myself. It wasn't real... it
made me happy because it wasn't real. I hate my life! I hate it! I
hate this world!" He was grimacing so much veins in his neck were
bulging out. "But over there, without hate you can't live. They're
heroes out there. I want to be a hero. I want to die, that I did
something that was worth everything before it... and it's not even
real!"
He sniffled some more. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
His aunt drew back, staring at him in mute horror. Children were prone
to the dramatic, and in their ignorance could be the cruelest creatures.
They were also in their way heart-rendingly sincere. A child should not
be entertaining such thoughts. She could blame part of that on his
violent little hobby... but most of it, in a world and a family that had
no affection to spare.
"...humanitas..." he mumbled. "For humanity. It was so big. It was so
awesome. It was everything this stupid stupid world should have been..."
He looked up, seemingly through her, his young eyes dark and piercing.
"I want never to be alone with the brotherhood of the Space Marine. I want
to have a God-Emperor to trust with all my soul. I want the orks and their
Waaagh and their joy in being alive, and the Eldar who are all so wise
where I'm not. Even the Chaos and their demons made it all seem so
worthwhile. Everything made sense. Everything had a purpose..."
Shinji had actually gained better grades from the box; his drive to
learn English and understand the concepts in science fiction made
elementary school... well, elementary.
Much like his father, he had let himself become absorbed by something
greater than himself. The main difference was the he had swallowed a
lie rather than building an edifice of it to entrap others.
"I'm not your son..." he continued. He clenched his fists and quivered in
place. "What am I, really?"
"Shinji... I never realized it was..."
"Who is Shinji?! Someone please tell me! What am I supposed to be?" he
asked in all desperation.
His aunt slowly shook her head. "You're just a child. Shinji... you
shouldn't be thinking those things. You can be whatever you want to be,
it's still all so far away for you..."
"Whatever else other than your son..." he finished. "I'm sorry. I'm not
him. I can't ever be him. I'm sorry you thought I was trying..." he
trailed off into silence.
Crickets chirped outside, the room was stained red.
She placed her hands on his shoulder, in a posture to push him away and
sighed. "No, you can never replace my son..."
Instead, she pulled and crushed him into a hug. "But I think I can love
you anyway..."
The boy began to cry again. He was, after all, just ten.
"Baa-san."
"Shinji..."
In the growing darkness they remained, true family at last.
"Librarian!"
She blinked. That was one of the few English words she knew. What an
odd thing to yell out in such a dramatic moment. Shinji struggled to
get out of her embrace and she let him loose.
The boy tried to walk and nearly toppled over to smash his head on
the table edge; luckily he was fast enough push away with his hands.
His aunt was stunned into wide-eyed inaction.
Shinji weaved past the dining table and into the kitchen. He reached
into the shadows behind a shelf and brought out a figurine; a bald
man, scowling, in thick stubby blue armor. "Hu-waaa." the boy gasped
out. "I found it! Master Librarian of the Ultramarines!" He looked
wildly around the kitchen. He pointed to another dark area. "Is
that... is that, hey!" He rushed to over the refrigerator and pulled
out a "Dreadnought-sama!" and "Wah! Tankbusta-dono! You were fighting
again!"
Well, he was ten.
He turned around and gave her such a biiig, happy smile, so bright
and honest. "That was a dirty trick you pulled, auntie." He wanted
to hug her again, but his arms were rather already full. "But I'm
glad we had this talk."
His aunt simply sat there, her eyes glazed, her hair frazzled. She
managed to get herself to moving just in time to clean up after herself,
and present a welcoming face to her husband. Meanwhile, Shinji went
around finding Warhammer 40k figurines all over the place. He was
having fun in the odd variation of hide and seek. It made him love, for
yes he finally identified that feeling, his aunt all the more.
They never mentioned again what happened then. They got along just
fine, and it was from her that Shinji learn most of his cooking skills.
She never interfered again in the boys' (both ages) playing, and went
deliberately out of her way to allow them their time for bonding. The
miniatures were always clean and their colors bright and fresh as the
day they were painted.
-to be continued-
>>The boy, whose reading until then were limited to school books, was
>>instantly overwhelmed by the Sheer Awesome
There were simply so many ways to approach this. It all but screams
for a crack-fic. There's still going to be humor, but what made Shinji
so easy for Gendo to control, what made him such a wuss, was that he was
basically an empty shell. We never really realized why Shinji was such
a withdrawn boy. He never felt the support of a loving family, like
every other of the borderline-insane characters in that show. If
he had a family, if he had a childhood actually worth of any note, he
would have turned out differently. He would actually have had character.
He would have been NORMAL. He could have handled his problems in an
entirely reasonable manner. He would be that much more difficult to
control.
Well, as normal as a teenager that takes advice from four painted
plastic figurines in his pocket can be.
Remember, that Shinji said "It was so big. It was so awesome. It was
everything this stupid stupid world should have been..."
He still doesn't quite get how thoroughly fucked up that universe can
be. If he still somehow winds up at the center of Instrumentality...
oh, god. Emperor.
Gendo, there is no word in the human language for how thoroughly,
inescapably screwed you are. There might be one in Eldar, though.
They're assholes like that.
