Shattered

[Ouch]

[So, I've decided to give into my insanity and try something kind of crazy. It's a traditional story more typical of the content that's expected on this site. I must warn that there really isn't much wheeler action going on right now, because the wheeler had to 'be made' so to speak. Also, be warned that at the time I did a re-write of this, I didn't really know that there were female Devotees. Theoretically, this is old material of mine - some of you may remember me saying how I wrote a few drafts of a screenplay. This is essentially a 'novelized' plot of the screenplay. If you all think it sucks (if you even bother to read it), and you probably all will, please at least keep in mind that some of this material I had worked on when I was sixteen...a tumultuous and typically untalented age (not that I'm any better now...). If I don't get yelled at, I might post Chapter One and so on...I apologise if it is horrible...]

Prologue

Giana, oh Giana.

What did I do?

We walked out of the Calvin Theatre arm in arm after the amazing concert put on by Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks for their Buckingham Nicks Reunion Tour. They were hitting smaller venues in homage to their humble music career prior to their success with Fleetwood Mac. It was no doubt Buckingham’s idea to tour that way. The New England summer air blanketed us in temperate warmth in the evening hours. It felt good to be back home in Northampton, and it was unfortunate we were leaving so soon. We were not far away, though, down in Storrs, Connecticut since I was going to school at UConn. On Sunday, however, I would be finished after seven years there, after getting my Bachelors, and finally my MBA.

We made our egress; I gently guided her through the loosely clustered crowd to our silver Toyota Prius across the glistening street. A slight sprinkle, almost mist-like rain was falling, slightly dampening the streets. We both got into the Prius, which was slightly aglow with the faint orange hue of the streetlamp. I descended into the driver’s seat and closed the door to silence the annoying chime alerting me that the keys were in the ignition.

“I’ve got a souvenir for you,” I said, turning and grinning at Giana.

“Oh yeah?”

I nodded and rummaged around in my right coat pocket for a few seconds and pulled out a thin cylindrical object wrapped in white plastic and gave it to her.

“A tampon? How thoughtful,” she said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

As she looked incredulously at the tampon, I withdrew the small leather box from my left pocket and flipped it open and took her left hand. She looked up and her mouth opened and her eyes widened. For a moment she sat in a stunned stupor before the tears I expected began to drift down her face.

“Giana Eve Lattoli, I love you. Will you marry me?”

“Oh my God,” she began, choking on her words. “Yes!”

I slid the ring onto her finger slowly, and we drew closer and our lips met for a moment that I wish lasted forever. She looked down at her hand, gazing at the brilliant diamond.

“Wow, it’s heavy,” she said, still in shock from the proposal. “Dante, it’s perfect.”

I hoped it was perfect. It was a certified 4.75-carat, D-clarity, Internally Flawless-cut diamond round-shaped and set into a custom-engraved platinum ring. I felt phantom pains in my left kidney just thinking of the cost.

“It’s a reflection of you,” I replied. “Perfection.”

She nodded weakly as the expected second stage of tears came. In order to still appear masculine I fought away the tears that burned at my eyelids.

“I love you,” I whispered in order to have some emotional release.

I gazed into her olivine eyes as I caressed her sandy silk-like hair that matched the goldenrod tone of her skin. I tasted the warm saline fluid of tears as they fell from my eyes despite my best efforts. For a few moments we sat in silence, illuminated by only the streetlamp. The silence was broken only by a calm and steady buzz of passing traffic. By now most of the concert crowd had left, leaving only a few stragglers hoping for autographs. Giana snorted and looked at me with a grin.

“Why the hell did you have a tampon?” She asked giggling.

“What? It’s my scout training! I’ve got to be prepared!’ I said as seriously as I could.

“You’re weird.”

I sighed contentedly.

“Shall we return to l’chateau?” I asked in the most fabricated French accent I could as I started the car.

She nodded as I navigated out of the parking lot and onto King Street, driving through Northampton to the on-ramp of Interstate 91 South.

***

As we reached the Springfield area, twenty minutes later, Giana looked at me with the innocent expression a young child would have. It was cute, one of the many things I loved about her.

“I have to pee,” she said simply.

“I knew it. Wine rushes through you like Niagara Falls. There’s a McDonalds close by we can stop at.”

She nodded with a silly expression on her face. It was obvious the wine had rushed to someplace else in addition to her bladder. I moved over to the right lane and took Exit 8. I made a U-turn and took a left onto Carew Street. We came to an intersection and were stopped by a red light that took forever to change despite there being no traffic. When the light finally changed, I took a right and pulled into the McDonalds, situated at the mouth of the on-ramp to I-91 North.

I parked the car and Giana got out of the car. She began to walk toward the door, but then turned about and came back and knocked on the window. I opened the door and looked out at her. She leaned over and looked at me with her irresistible girlish smile. She could get anything from me like that.

“Sweetie, I’m having a Big Mac attack…could you run inside and order while I’m in the bathroom?”

I nodded and smiled, and we both walked inside She scurried to the bathroom while I took my place in line. Despite it being a little after eleven, the place was quite busy. I eventually ordered, got the food, and walked back to the car and got inside. Giana was still in the bathroom. It was amazing how long it took for women to pull down their pants, sit on a tank of water, piss, and pull their pants up again.

If only they pulled their pants down a little quicker. I thought bemusedly.

My thoughts were halted as Giana opened my door and sat in my lap.

“Want me to drive the rest of the way back?” She asked cheerfully.

I looked her over. She seemed to have her wits about her and didn’t look impaired. She was a good driver and she had driven home after nights out before.

“Sure,” I said, leaving the driver’s seat and walked around to the passenger side and got in.

Giana took several large bites in quick succession from the burger. It always amazed me how she could eat a burger in such a way that would make me look like a pig, but look perfectly graceful in contrast. It also seemed like magic how she could eat like a horse and still stay so thin. Giana slurped on the vanilla milkshake I got her and reclined into her seat.

“So I will be Giana Eve Montaigne. G, E, M, gem!”

“…And a gem you are,” I said, taking her hand.

Giana took another bite of the Big Mac and turned on the car. She drove the car out of the parking lot and began to drive back toward the highway. The intersection we crossed previously was ahead of us. The traffic light just changed to yellow as we reached the intersection and Giana sped up to make it across before the light turned red.

Not far away, I could hear a loud buzzing sound that quickly grew louder. I looked out my window and saw the dark blue Mitsubishi Lancer racing toward us at an unfathomable speed. I tried to reach across and sharply jerk the steering wheel, but in a single instant the Lancer bludgeoned into our car with incredible force. Our car spun viciously out of control at an incalculable velocity. Several sharp pains erupted on my head as I could hear and feel glass shattering all around me. There was another loud buzzing and before I could interpret anything there was a horrid screeching and once again we were heaved with such force that made us seem like children’s toys. The Prius left the ground, causing my stomach to expunge its contents. Gravity slammed us back to the earth with a cacophonous crash.

I blinked as a blur came over my vision. I struggled to look over to Giana, whose body was soaked with blood.

“Dante…” I heard her faintly gasp.

Even with the thick haze obscuring my vision, I could see Giana spurting blood like a sort of grotesque fountain. I strained in an attempt to touch her with my hand, but failed miserably. The hazy blur was thickening rapidly.

“I love you,” I managed to say as my strength faltered.

And then there was nothing.

*****

I awoke from the coma two days later only to be welcomed by hellish pain and a frightening lack of sensation and ability to move anything below my lower torso. My family, her family, nurses, and a few doctors were all there to tell me the story. I knew how it would end and didn’t want to hear it, but I was told anyway. Giana was dead and I was a fucking paraplegic. I’d never walk again.

My mother drew close to the side of the bed and took my hand. I pulled her close and sobbed into the warmth of her chest as I did over twenty years ago. I sobbed until sleep took a hold of me once more.

[Phil]

Pretty powerful stuff.

[Dee Dee]

There´s absolutely no need to excuse anything.

I like your story, Wind-writer - roll with it .

[doe]

Windy, please keep going with it - whose the natural now? .

It certainly doesn't read like a 16 year old wrote it, have you overlain the original with more adult writing?

[aloha]

That was actually really good. Is there more?

[Ouch]

[HOLY CRAP! FINALLY CHAPTER ONE! Yes, believe your eyes! Okay, so nobody probably reads this anyway...my apologies for the lowball quality of it...]

One

I suddenly became conscious of the fact that I was sleeping. I commanded my eyes to open, and they obeyed, albeit reluctantly. My view was that of my banana-crème colored ceiling being obscured by the blur of my ceiling fan’s rotor whirling around at a lazy pace. The cool, gentle drafts produced by the fan were refreshing on the skin of my bare chest, which was bronzed naturally from my Franco-Italian heritage, and unnaturally from the recent years spent in the tropical sun. I was lying on my leather sofa with my laptop closed on my waist. I could see a blinking green light flashing; informing me that it was on standby, the heat exhausted from the fan warming my jeans.

I flipped open the laptop, and the HP Logo on the back illuminated. I clicked on the trackpad and logged into my user account. The short Windows 7 jingle played as I logged in. I could hear the fan speed up and some nearly inaudible noises came from the solid-state disk. On screen was a colorful animated model of a forest clearing within a file window titled RAND_ENC_GEN1 – Autodesk Maya. With a sigh, I saved the file and shut down the computer.

I placed the laptop on the table, carefully moving aside a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label. I looked at my Blu-Ray player nestled centrally just atop my audio console within the confines of the entertainment centre, hoping to get an estimation of the time. I was disappointed when I saw the obvious blinking indicating that it was midnight as far as it was concerned. Seeking a secondary source of information, I looked up at the clock that hung mounted above my 60-inch Sony Bravia television affixed to the wall. A pale light illuminated the clock ad upon seeing it, my body jolted involuntarily.

“Shit!” I said unintentionally out loud.

I sprung up to a sitting position abruptly. With a pivot of my waist, my miniscule, avaian-esque legs slid off the sofa in an unorganized manner and in quick succession my feet rapped the mahogany hardwood floor like two raindrops falling onto pavement. I slid my way over to the rightmost edge of the sofa and leaned forward, gripping onto the front of my TiLite Z10 wheelchair. I thrust myself off of the sofa with a push of my left hand and pulled the chair under me. My body settled into the seat with a slight thud. I grasped onto my legs one at a time, and elevated them so that my feet lay upon the footplate. I gripped the ergonomic hand rims of my Spinergy SPOX wheels and pushed myself more securely into the chair, the black and red upholstery snug and comfortable against my body.

I quickly maneuvered around the coffee table and propelled myself toward the bedroom and swung the door open and forced my chair over the pile of dirty clothes I neglected to put into the laundry bin. I drew close to the crisp sheets covering the large, empty desolation of the California King bed. I leaned over and with my left hand pushed up and concurrently pushed the chair back and my body forward and around atop the bed. My legs and feet followed limply like tired Egyptian slaves being urged on by the Pharaoh’s soldiers.

I pulled open the dresser now in front of me and grabbed the various accessories that made up supposed business attire. I placed the crisp clothing on the once crisp, but now slightly wrinkled sheets. I winced and sighed, thinking about how I would have to re-dress the bed in order to rectify the wrinkles. I unzipped the jeans I had on and with a slight push, I lifted and pulled the jeans over my thighs, over my knees and let gravity do most of the rest of the work as the jeans fell to the floor, unhindered by my nearly non-existent legs. I curled my arm around my legs and lifted them, sliding them onto the surface of the bed.

I reached for the undershirt at the top of the stack I made and slipped it on and then put on a mossy green and white striped shirt on over it and began to button it up. I took my work pants and began to work them up my legs. I used my elbows to elevate my lower torso and I pulled the pants above my hips and around my waist, with my legs giving little resistance. I finally slid on black socks over my feet, with toes gnarled in permanence – forever a testament of a time that once was.

Fully dressed, I edged toward the side of the bed. I gripped onto the frame of my wheelchair and slid back into the seat while the bed acted as support for my legs. Once seated, I pulled away from the bed and one at a time placed my legs once more upon the footrest. I leaned forward and tossed my worn clothes onto the ever-growing task on my to-do list.

I wheeled out of the bedroom and returned to the coffee table where my work gear was assembled in chaotic fashion. I hastily packed my laptop and other accessories into its bag and slid it into the storage canopy underneath my seat. Pausing for a moment, I surveyed the area to ensure I wasn’t forgetting anything. My eyes lingered for a moment upon the crystal surface upon which the bottle of Johnnie Walker rested. I unscrewed the cap and took a small sip from the bottle and replaced the cap. I swirled the slightly smoky liquid in my mouth and slowly swallowed it.

“Good to go,” I said.

I made my way to the front door and grabbed my shoes and quickly put them on. I took my keys and rolled out into the warm, tropical air.


***


The sun shone brightly on the sparkling silver coat of paint that adorned my car. The bright rays glinted off the copper logo at the hood of the car as I turned into Summit Park Drive and toward the maroon building adorned with the blue EA sign at the top. I pulled into the row of parking spaces adjacent to the building entrance and parked in the space marked with a sign reading: ‘Reserved for D.A. Montaigne’. I swung open the door of the car and slid my seat forward. I pivoted to my left and pulled my legs out of the car. I reached behind my seat and pulled out the main chassis of the wheelchair and set it down on the dark and smooth pavement in front of me. I attached both wheels to the chair and flipped it upright. I swung into the seat and grabbed my bag and stuffed it back into the storage canopy after closing the car door.

I reached for my cell phone and tapped the screen. On the screen was a Porsche logo as an icon. I tapped the icon twice and entered a four-digit number into the phone. The car made a familiar chirping sound in acknowledgement, and a padlock appeared over the Porsche logo. I noticed I had received a text from someone, so I tapped the envelope icon to read it.

“‘d00d! Where r u? Got 2 c d newb boss brought in!’ – Jeremy Olsen”, it read.

I didn’t waste any time in replying, instead quickly making my way inside. I scanned my ID badge and the security gate opened. I called an elevator down and wheeled into an unusually empty one and pressed the button labeled ‘6’. I sat in silence, taking a brief moment to rest my mind, listening only to the singular tone of the buzzing of the elevator on the ride up. A timid chime informed me that the elevator had reached its destination. I briskly propelled myself to the production design room, which was at the end of a short hallway. The tinted Plexiglas twin doors slid open in front of me as I got close and opened a portal into the workspace we called ‘The Vault’.

My eyes scanned the area, all was normal until my vision set upon a pair of employees chatting with someone I’d never seen before. I scrunched up my eyes and opened them again to ensure I wasn’t imagining what I saw. The mystery person was about five and a half feet tall, with a slender, petite build that had an indefinable sturdiness to it. She had hair hat looked nearly as though strands of pure gold flowed from her head down well past her shoulders. Impossibly bright, cerulean eyes lit up her face, colored with a fair, cream-like skin pervasive across her body, oh which only strategic amounts were shown outside of her conservative business attire.

It looked as though the three were involved in lively casual conversation as I slowly wheeled over to them. I clenched my mouth shut in overcompensation after realizing that my jaw had dropped slightly ajar. As I drew closer, Jeremy turned and furtively nodded, as if he were answering my unsaid question and confirming that everything was real. Finally, the other man saw me and turned toward me after saying something to the woman.

“Dante, off to a late start today?”

“Yeah, sorry about that, Gary,” I mumbled, my attention focused solely on the woman.

“This is our new design coordinator, you two will probably be working closely together on the new projects,” Gary said, gesturing to the woman.

The woman looked at me briefly, her eyes lingering both upon mine and then on my legs. I could almost sense a unique feeling of fear that seemed to emanate from her. It was different from the typical awkwardness that arose from people meeting the ‘guy in the wheelchair’. The woman’s feet pointed inwardly and her legs were tense with her knees touching each other. It was almost like she was using all of her strength to avoid leaping up and running away. Only a second had ticked on the clock, but it felt like the entire day had gone by before she spoke.

“Uh…hi, I’m…Lindsey; Lindsey Loire,” she said softly, almost imperceptibly quiet.

“I’m Dante…Montaigne,” I replied, unable to restrain a stupid, boyish grin as I reached out a hand instinctively.

Lindsey hesitated, but after a brief moment reached out her hand slightly to engage mind in the normally rudimentary task of a handshake. As her hand met mine, pure energy sparked through my body, feeling as though I were Biblical Adam receiving that Spark of Life from God. I held her hand longer than anyone would for a handshake, and only unclasped her hand as I felt her start to pull away.

“Okay, well, I was just showing Ms. Loire around for orientation; you can get her acclimated to the project specifics on Monday, when she officially starts,” Gary interceded, at a timely moment. “Ms. Loire,” Gary said, gesturing toward the door.

Lindsey nodded and stood up. Before she began to leave for the door, she looked back at me and for a single second, our eyes met. It was enough to make me feel another spark. As soon as it happened, it was over. I blinked and she was already on her way through the door. The rhythmic percussion of her shoes down the hallway was the only evidence left remaining of her existence.

‘Damn…’ I thought.

[Samantha]

Your a great writer! Very discriptive I love it.

[sverige888]

Mmmmm, loving it. More..... Please