Pushing the call button next to his bed urgently, Amar’e Stoudemire waited for his live-in nurse to arrive next to his bed. In a few seconds, Sherie rushed in, looking concerned. “What is it, Amar’e?”
“Take me to the hologram projector, Sherie. I have some stuff I need to watch.”
Sherie rolled her eyes. “Oh, not this again. Do you really think it’s good for your state of mind to-”
Amar’e cut her off. “You’re a nurse, not a shrink. If Amar’e wants to watch his holos, your job is to take Amar’e to the hologram projector, not do a complete psychoanalysis of his motivations.”
With a sigh, Sherie began to prepare Amar’e for transferal into his wheelchair. This process involved hooking him up to a complicated pulley system.
“Hey, watch it!” Amar’e yelped. “My knees are tender today.” This was true, but not any truer than normal. At the age of forty, Amare’s knees resembled flesh-colored coleslaw. Pieces of ligament and bone jutted out at rakish angles, and despite receiving the most advanced medical care available, they only had around ten degrees of motion. The skin that was supposed to cover the whole operation had long been stripped away by surgery and stopped at around mid-thigh, meaning that the flesh in that area was infected and painful on a near-constant basis.
After many moans, grunts, and “ouch”es, Amar’e was finally propped up in the custom-built wheelchair. His straightened legs were strapped firmly in place to ensure that he would not inflict more damage on them.
“Thank you, Sherie,” Amar’e said, wheeling himself towards the living room. There was a large, futuristic-looking chamber in the center of the room: the hologram projector. Amar’e entered the chamber, pushed the button on the included popcorn maker, and readied himself for an extended holo session.
Searching HoloTube for “Amar’e Stoudemire 2007-2008 Suns Highlights” brought up a list of familiar holovideos, all of which Amar’e had viewed hundreds of times. With the hologram projector, Amar’e could watch a lifelike version of his younger self terrorize opposing defenses, leaping out of the arena with dazzling dunks, all in a perfectly 3D-rendered projection.
These scenes of triumph always brought tears to his eyes. For a while, he had been almost Shaq-esque in his dominance, but that was over now. None of his former teammates ever visited him. His wife and kids, gone. The Suns organization rejected all his requests to become even the lowliest of assistant coaches. All he had was Sherie, his holos, and two knees that looked more like wood-chippered softballs than any human joint.
He had been contemplating the next step for the past few years, and now he finally felt it was time to take that step.
There was a lock on the door, presumably for privacy during viewings of a more “erotic” nature. The concept that the human body could feel pleasure in addition to pain was foreign to Amar’e, so the lock generally went unused. Now, it was in the “locked” position, perhaps for the first time ever.
A dinging sound indicated that the popcorn was finished. Amar’e ignored it. Popcorn at this stage would just prolong the process.
Amar’e set up a custom playlist of holovideos to be on endless repeat. Of course, they all featured Amar’e himself. They would play long after the end had come.
Now it was time. He freed his legs from the restraints that held them in place and once again marveled that those same legs had once been able to dunk a basketball. Gathering his strength for one final push, Amar’e used his weakened arms to lift himself above the arm of his chair and over the side.
Pain exploded through his body has he hit the metal floor of the chamber. He knew that a scream would arouse too much attention, but he couldn’t help but make an “NNNNHhhhhh” sound through gritted teeth. Looking down at his legs, he saw that one had popped cleanly away at the knee, and the other was bent at an impossible angle. However, there weren’t many nerves left down there, and the pain subsided within minutes to a dull throb. There was no way he would ever be able to reach the door handle to crawl for help, even if he wanted to. That was the point.
Closing his eyes, Amar’e smiled and let the sounds of his former dominance carry him into the black void.