Subject: [FFML] [Neon-Genesis Evangelion] "The Waste Land"
From: "B. Na" <gnbean@u.washington.edu>
Date: 5/2/2000, 12:29 PM
To: ffml@fanfic.com

Dear FFMLers

This is the revised version of "The Waste Land."  

Comments would be greatly welcomed and appreciated, but
please keep all comments tasteful and constructive.  You 
may reply to me through the FFML or you may send comments 
to either gnbean@u.washington.edu or na839@yahoo.com.  

Thank you and I hope you enjoy this work of mine.


B.S.N.

------------------------------------------------------------
The Waste Land by B.S.N
------------------------------------------------------------
Original Concept by Jitou
------------------------------------------------------------
DISCLAIMER: All characters are the property of Mr. Hideki
Anno, Gainax, A.D. Vision and all other associated parties.
This fanficiton does not intend to reap profit or benefit of
any kind: it was created for entertainment purposes only.
------------------------------------------------------------
TEXT CONVETIONS:

_   _ denotes emphasis
------------------------------------------------------------

			   Son of man,
 	    You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
	   A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives me no shelter, the cricket no relief,
	       And the dry stone no sound of water.
		
		From T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land."


CHAPTER I:  The Pilgrim's Progress

	There was a heavy sheen of perspiration on his brow.
Ikari Shinji raised a grimy hand to his forehead and 
impatiently wiped away the trickles of sweat that coursed
down his small face.  The boy sighed and looked up into the
brass-colored expanse of sky.  It was an early summer 
morning, but the freshness of the dawn had faded long ago.
The heat was oppressive--almost intolerable--and though the
wind blew in fitful gusts, it brought no relief.  Shinji,
however, could not rest.  The white road that wound before
him was long; he had yet miles to go before he could sleep.
The boy ran his fingers through the dark, damp strands of
hair that clung to his brow before he bowed his head and
continued onward.
	Shinji trudged up the hill, his lean, brown hands 
looped through the straps of his pack.  He soon reached the
summit of the peak and stood there for a few moments to 
still his ragged breath.  The boy glanced up once again into the 
sky, but his eyes could not bear the white-hot glare of the 
sun.  Instead, his gaze rested upon the distant horizon 
which scintillated and quivered in the waves of heat that 
rose from the ground.  Shinji absently rubbed the back of his 
sticky hand against the seat of his shorts as he surveyed 
the land that sloped gently downwards below him.
	"Aomori," the boy murmured.  "I wonder if it's still
inhabited. . ."  He withdrew a necklack from under his shirt
and stared at the small cross suspended from it.  "And if it
is, will the people be willing to listen?  Will they--can 
they--understand?"  And as Shinji spoke, his face became
clouded with worry and doubt.  Suddenly, he clenched
his hand, the cross pressing into his damp palm.  "No, they
have to listen--I must make them listen."  He looked down
at the necklace again.  "Otherwise, all that I have done
so far would have been for nothing."  
	With renewed determination, Shinji began to walk 
down the hill.

------------------------------------------------------------

	It was nearly dusk when he arrived at the small 
hamlet.  Long ago, it had been a large, flourishing 
metropolis; today, the city was forlorn and desolate.  As
the boy walked among the ruins, he recalled the towering
edifices, the tree-lined avenues, the bustling traffic and
the throngs of people that had once characterized the
municipality.  Now the only monuments of its former grandeur
were the few, fragile, blackened shells of buildings, the
great, twisted steel light-posts and the occasional,
infrequent stretches of pavement.  Here and there among the
rubble, Shinji saw the remains of a billboard, a faded 
street sign, a broken piece of furniture or a splintered 
door.  Yet the boy did not slacken his pace or pause to 
examine these objects more closely; such sights were common 
enough. Instead, Shinji briskly made his way along the empty 
and deserted streets, his gait purposeful and determined.  
He mounted a shallow flight of stairs--the only remnants of 
the city library--and examined the wasteland that stretched 
before him.  When he sighted a cluster of dilapidated 
buildings, he hurriedly clambered down and made his way 
towards them.

	"Hello?" Shinji called out.  His voice rang out and
reverberated against the blank walls.  He stepped through 
the door and cried out again, "Hello?  Is anyone here?"
	He waited for a few moments as if to give the 
person time to respond but no one answered him.  Although 
Shinji heard no reply, he ventured further into the 
building and continued to call out in hopes that some voice 
would greet him.  But as he wandered through the quiet, 
empty rooms, his hope began to falter and Shinji once again 
felt the familiar dull ache in his heart--the heavy 
composite of sorrow, regret and hopelessness that always 
arose when no human call answered his own.
	"I guess there's nobody here," Shinji murmured.  
"After all, it's only been a year after the apocalypse, 
maybe no one has come home yet."  He paused at a window and 
looked out.  "But then, do they have a home to come to?  
There's nothing here--just ruins."  He absently traced his 
finger along the edge of the windowsill.  "I wonder if home 
is like this too," he mused.  "I wonder if anyone is--"
	A noise interrupted his lonely soliloquy.  He spun 
around and peered into the gloom.  "Hello?" he cried out,
his heart thumping wildly with fear and expectation.  He 
saw nothing, but he could still hear it--the faint and 
indistinct sound of rapid footsteps as it hurried away from 
him.  Shinji threw down his pack and ran in the direction 
of the footfalls.
	"Wait!" he called out, "Stop!"  As Shinji raced into 
the room, he discerned a dim shadow in the obscurity.  The 
phantom paused but commenced its run when it perceived Shinji.  
It swiftly turned into an adjoining hallway and disappeared 
into the darkness.
	"Stop!  Please!  I'm not going to hurt you!" Shinji
pleaded as he sped after the specter.  But the phantom 
ignored his entreaties and continued to run.  Shinji, however, 
was undaunted and continued to his pursuit.  On and on they 
ran through the cavernous rooms and narrow corridors of the 
empty building.  Though his limbs ached and his breath burned 
painfully within his chest, Shinji ran, spurred onwards by 
his great hope.  He could see nothing in those dim, unlit 
rooms yet the fleet footfalls of the runner before him guided 
him through the darkness.
	I've got to stop him!  Shinji thought as he followed 
the apparition.  I've got to talk to him!  
	But as Shinji closed in, he felt himself faltering.  
His strength was taxed--it had nearly reached its limit--and 
the vast rooms and maze-like hallways seemed to have no end.  
Yet his eagerness was still great and, using the last reserves 
of his strength, the boy reached out--one last, desperate 
grasp--in an attempt to arrest the fleeing shade.
	Almost there, Shinji thought, as his fingers strained 
closer to the shadowy figure.  I've almost got him!  I've 
nearly got--
	And that was his last conscious thought before 
darkness engulfed him.

------------------------------------------------------------

	A roach skittered past his nose.  Shinji stared at it 
in morbid fascination, his eyes transfixed to the wandering 
insect.  In the one, thin shaft of light that penetrated the 
gloom, he could see the delicate, waving feelers, the slender 
serrated legs and the curious hard casing of its body.  In the 
many hours that Shinji had lain prostrate upon the dusty floor, 
the roach was the only object that he could distinguish in the 
deep obscurity of his prison.  The insect soon scuttled out
of sight and Shinji was left alone once more.
	"Another unfamiliar ceiling," Shinji murmured as he 
looked into the murky, unfathomable shadows above him.  A wry 
smile came to his lips at this nonsensical thought; it was a 
silly, senseless statement--an old phrase he had often said 
long ago--but he used it nonetheless.  The smile soon faded, 
however, and his young features assumed its wonted sad and 
weary aspect.
	Shinji closed his eyes and sighed.  "How long has it 
been?  It seems like I've been here for hours."   He opened his 
eyes and stared into the darkness above him.    Though he knew 
not where or how he was imprisoned or who had placed him there, 
Shinji felt oddly calm.  He was past all emotion now.  
Confidence and expectation had been extinguished; fear and 
curiosity had vanished.  Now, he was simply resigned.  There was 
no escape.  "I wonder," he said softly, "when--and how--this 
will end. . ."
	A key grated in the lock and the door swung open.
"Come, boy." 
	Shinji started.  "Wh-who's there?" he asked as his eyes
frantically scanned the darkness.
	The figure did not answer. Shinji felt himself being 
roughly raised.  He looked up but could see nothing.  The hot 
breath and heavy hand of the guard were the only
tangible signs of his presence.  The warder 
quickly cut through the ropes around his ankles.  Shinji fell 
to the floor.  He essayed to rise again, but his legs were 
stiff and numb from the long hours of inactivity and he 
collapsed to the floor again.
	"Too weak to stand, eh?"  The guard took hold of 
Shinji's shirt and hoisted him aloft.  "Come.  It is time," 
he said.  
	And Shinji was borne out of his dark prison into 
the formless blackness beyond.

------------------------------------------------------------

	"Here," the warder commanded as he pushed Shinji into 
a room.  "Master Yukishiro will see you."  
	Shinji stumbled to his knees.  He turned to look at 
the jailer.  "Master--"
	"So, you're the boy who was roving about the city 
this morning, eh?" a voice inquired.  Shinji turned to the
right, startled. A tall thin man emerged from the shadows.  
	"You're rather young to be wandering alone 
in this place, child," Yukishiro said mildly.  "You may rise."
	Shinji said nothing and directed his eyes to the 
floor.  Yukishiro shrugged and seated himself opposite the 
boy.  
	The boy did not struggle long Yukishiro thought as
his eyes swept over the boy.  The attack was quick and
unexpected, obviously.  There's only a little blood on
his chin and a large bruise on his cheeck--he hasn't been
hurt much.
	But the boy's injuriies did not interest Yukishiro--
it was his face that fascinated the man.  In the harsh glare 
of a naked light bulb, the man could see every line, ridge and 
hollow of the boy's face.  The round, tanned countenance was 
beginning to become square around the chin and his frame was 
lean and sinewy.  Clad in the dingy white shirt of a 
schoolboy and tattered khaki shorts, he appeared 
to be fifteen or sixteen.  But though his cheeks were still 
smooth and his brow yet unlined, his face was strangely 
haggard and drawn.  The lines about his mouth were austere 
and grim and there was a strange dullness in his eyes.  In 
those eyes there was a dark, mournful expression--they 
were eyes that had seen too much and suffered too greatly.  
It was an impossibly old look for such a child.  Yet there 
was something in his face that drew one to him--but it was 
not pity.
	"What is your name, child?" Yukishiro asked finally.
	"Ikari Shinji," he replied.
	"So, Shinji-kun, where have you come from?"
	"Neo-Tokyo."
	"Hmm, that is rather far-off, ne, Shinji-kun?
Have you come to visit some family in these parts?"
	Shinji shook his head.
	Yukishiro frowned in puzzlement.  "What, no
family here?"
	"No.  I-I have no family."  There was a
slight catch in his voice.  Yukishiro noted it, but the 
keen glint in his eyes and his tone of voice was unchanged.
	"Surely you must have an aunt or an uncle
hereabouts."
	"None."
	The quizzical look on Yukishiro's features
deepened.  "Then what brings you here?"
	"I have a message for you."
	"A message?"  Yukishiro's brow arched in surprise.  
"From whom?"
	"No one in particular.  Just from myself,"
he answered simply.  The cold, taciturn boy was gone;
there was a curious eagerness in his eyes and a peculiar
thrill in his voice now.  Yukishiro, however, failed to
perceive this and continued to stare past the boy.
	"A message. . ." Yukishiro murmured as he rubbed
his chin thoughtful.  He rose and paced about the room.
"So, the reports are true. . .and I had through they
were all tales. . .  It was well that the guard placed 
you where he did. . ."
	"Ano. . ." Shinji began.
	Yukishiro glanced up.  There was a dark, 
indescribable expression in his eyes.  "Shinji-kun, whatever 
message you may have for me, I do not wish to hear it.
Say nothing about it.  It is better for the both of
us."
	"But--"
	In one swift movement, Yukishiro crossed the room.
With a trembling hand, Yukishiro seized Shinji's collar
and glared at him.  "Look here, boy," he said sharply,
"I don't care to listen to your message.  If you wish to
leave unharmed, say nothing more."
	"Sir, I can't leave until--" Shinji started.
	A sharp crack resounded in the dark room.
	"Shinji-kun, this is your last warning," Yukishiro
said.  "I don't want to hear it.  Say nor more or you
will regret it later."
	Shinji looked away, his eyes downcast.  There was
a pained expression on his features, but the blow did not
cause it.  "Then there is nothing more to say."
	"Good.  I will--"
	"But. . .I can still see it in you," Shinji
murmured.  "The wall within your heart.  The barrier that
divides you from other men. . ."
	Yukishiro grabbed the boy's arm, his eyes wide with 
alarm.  "What did you say?" Yukishiro asked, his voice high 
and strained.  "What did you just say?  Speak, boy!"
	"My father's work has failed here," Shinji said
quietly.  "There is nothing more I can do."
	"What are you talking about?"  Yukishiro shook him 
fiercely. "What are you saying?"
	"There is nothing to say," Shinji responded.
	"Answer me, boy!  What are you saying?" Yukishiro
demanded.  He desperately clutched the collar of Shinji's
shirt in his fist.  The man's eyes glittered with a 
feverish fire.  
	Shinji's eyes were flat and the lines of his 
mouth were taut.  It was the face of an executioner or a 
saint--cold, dispassionate, severe, resolute.  "No."
	Suddenly, an overwhelming fury possessed Yukishiro.  
A wild shriek burst from his lips.  "You!!!  You!!! 
You--"



----------------------------------------------------------
AUTHOR'S NOTES:  First and foremost, I want to give my
heartfelt thanks to my friends and fellow fanfic writers,
Allyn Yonge and Brian Payne for their insightful advice,
unending patience and encouragement: without them, the
quality of my works would have indeed been poorer and
my will to write would have died out.  ^_^  You guys are 
one in a million (or should I say two?)!
	This idea was generated by the brilliant Jitou
(another good friend and fellow fanfic author).  He
pitched this idea to the FFML a year ago and I was the
crazy one who took him up on the offer.  ^_^  Another
word of thanks must go to him; not only for being the 
creative source of this work, but for being such a help
to me as well!  ^_^
	This work takes place after the last two episodes
of the TV series.  Although the "End of Evangelion" is
a source of influence for this work, it is only shapes
this work in part: again, most of the piece is grounded
in the final episodes of the TV series.    
	I did do some revising, but not as much as was
suggested by my supporters/pre-readers.  Sorry, guys, 
but somehow, I could change the "Yukishiro scene!"  ^_^;
All will be explained eventually in later chapters.












-- .---Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List---. | Administrators - ffml-admins@fanfic.com | | Unsubscribing - ffml-request@fanfic.com | | Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject | `---http://www.fanfic.com/FFML-FAQ.txt ---'