Weaving a Story

Rei Ayanami: Mountains. Heavy are the mountains. But that changes with the passage of time. Sky. Blue sky. What your eyes can't see. What your eyes can see. The sun. One, only one. Water. It is agreeable. Commander Ikari. Flowers. So many the same. So many without purpose. Sky. Sky of red. Red the color, the color I hate. Liquid flows, it drips, ripples, and pours. Blood, scent of blood, woman who does not bleed. From the red soil the humans come. Humans made by man and woman. City, a human creation. Eva, a human creation as well. What are humans? Are they creations of God? Humans, that which is created by humans. This is that which is mine. My life, my heart. I am a vessel for my thoughts. The entry plug, the throne of the soul. Who is this? This is me. Who am I? What am I? What am I? What am I? I am I. This object that is, is myself, that which forms is me. This is the self that can be seen, and yet this is not like that which is myself. A strange feeling. My body feels as if it is melting. I can no longer see myself. My form, my shape fades from view. Awareness dawns of someone who is not me. Who is here? There? Beyond me, here? Shinji? This person I know, Major Katsuragi. Dr. Akagi. People, my classmates. The pilot of Unit Two. Commander Ikari? Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?