Born Hard Again: Book Three of the Future Remembered Chronicles

BOOK: Born Hard Again: Book Three of the Future Remembered Chronicles
8.3Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub


Book Three of the Future Remembered Chronicles
















I wasn't dead.

I couldn't move.  My senses felt muted, like I was floating in one of those fluid-filled surgipods.  Where was I?  Had I somehow made it to safety?  Could I possibly be recovering in some modern facility, surrounded by generously-chested nursing staff?

A sheet of frigid wind sliced through my warm consciousness and I felt the need to cry out in shocked pain urgently rise in my lungs.  It was never let loose though and died there, prematurely.  I became aware of the sensation of light to my right and focused all of my bleary energy on forcing my eyelid open by mere millimeters.

The horrific sight of Koochy's frozen cadaver greeted me; his maw, still gaping in concert with the now-snow-and-gore-filled chasm in his chest. 

"Blue," I managed a cogent linguistic thought.  "You... cunt."

Failing to move any part of my body other than my crusty eyelid, I desperately scanned what little of my surroundings were visible to me.  I could not see TK, Sienna, Blue's corpse, Alphonso, Shitbarf, Putin or anything other than Koochy's stomach-wrenching and contorted visage, which was somehow only inches from my eye.  I wracked my feeble brain. 
What happened to us?  How long have I been out?  Why am I not dead yet?

There was little satisfaction to be had in conversation with myself on this topic.  I realized I needed to get on with living, or dying.  I wondered if whatever messianic, preternatural force powering my crushed and crippled child-like body would allow me to perish.  The thought crossed my mind that I may live on indefinitely, fossilized and forgotten on the gelid surface of the great Erie ice plains.

"That would be... terrible," I wordlessly observed.

I berated myself, mentally. 
Marcus!  Cleveland Jesus!  Where are you when I need you?! 
I knew that if Marcus were still alive, he would have some kind of genius idea that would save our asses.  My gaze momentarily flicked back to the ice crystals lazily collecting in my black friend's cavernous kisser. 
Think, Preston!  Think!  What would Marcus do?

Despite being awash in inconceivable agony, a chuckle died in my failing diaphragm.  Marcus would probably be doing a shot of jenkem and surfing porn on his compute-pad while the rest of us lay dying, I realized dryly.

Suddenly, something moved.  I saw it in my peripheral vision, but when I jerked my pupil to focus on whatever had caught my attention, I could see nothing but thick blankets of ice and snow.

"TK?" I desperately hoped to myself.

But it was not TK.  It was a severed, pixelated dong; contorting and lurching its way towards me.

"Oh... fuck me," I thought with the same dogged resignation that had been so familiar to me in past moments of future remembering.  I yearned for my powers to come back.  The future was so fucking useless without being able to see the worst parts in advance.  How did normal people live with this much uncertainty in situations like this?!  Reluctantly, I realized this wasn't a situation that many normal people would ever face.

The long cock-snake was thickly knotted with muscle and spotted by contusions.  It slowly and haphazardly jerked itself closer to my limp body and one opened eye.  Despite having died at least twice already in my life to date, I found the feeling of frantic despair ballooning up inside of me at the thought of being helplessly ravaged by this disembodied phallus.

I moved the only part of my body that would respond to my nervous system: my eyelid.  Blinking ferociously, I fancied myself sending a message of
please don't kill me... again
to the ever-nearing penis.

Then, it struck me.

speak.  Well, not speak, but send a message.  I felt the unfamiliar feeling of optimism welling up inside of me.  In a second's flashback, I recalled the years I spent in grade school studying what the old world used to call "heavy metal music."

There was one video, in particular, which had had a visceral effect on me; I could never forget it.  I couldn't remember the name of the band, or the song, or even what the video was about.  But I could remember that it featured a paraplegic soldier who could not speak save for nodding his head in what was a physical manifestation of the ancient code of Morse.  I had never studied Morse code, but I was pretty sure it couldn't be that hard.  I began to decode the message I remembered from the music video, disassemble the words and letters into short and long signals, then reassemble them to form a new message.

With only five or so feet of ice separating me from the encroaching deadly schlong, I began to furiously transmit my message via eye blinks.

J - E - E - S - U - S - - C - L - E - A - V - E - L - A - N - N - D

Nothing happened.

F - U - U - U - U - C - K  
I blinked out absentmindedly, then cursed myself for wasting the time to do so.  The obscene, fleshy tube of fuck was almost on top of me.  If it went for my eye first, I would be left not only mute but also totally senseless, I thought as fear gripped my throat.

J - E - S - S - U - S - - C - L - E - A - V - E - L - A - N - D

I tried again, to no avail.  It seemed unlikely that I would be spared the fate which was now slithering around my forehead.  I felt the warmth of the thick member slide around my neck, separating it from the ice it had become attached to with a sickening squelch.

"Come on, come on... come
" I screamed at myself from within my own head.

J - E - S - U - S - - C - L - E - V - E - L - A - N - D

As soon as I blinked out the correct spelling, the ground beneath me began to tremble.  At first it felt distant and faint, like a tremendously fat and athletic person was running towards me while we both stood on an elongated diving board.  But it didn't stay subtle for long.  Soon, everything was shaking violently.  The incorporeal penis that had been intent on molesting me was now wrapping itself around me for a different reason: survival.

Great puffy clouds of frozen dust and loose snow billowed up into the atmosphere from all around us as the sheets of ice beneath me rocked and jumped.  As the great quivering intensified, my broken baby Jesus body began bouncing on the unforgiving ice below like a bony, bloody basketball.  Again and again, I was tossed feet into the air before coming crashing back down with a disgusting smack.  I could feel what was left of my fractured bones being pounded into splinters and powder.

In good news, the murderous wang, now constricting around me, provided some cushion and broke my numerous falls.  I felt the sensation of smirking, though I knew my face was not able to do so. "Take that, you wanker," I thought at it as it was further bludgeoned by my weight. 

The ground I was on was sinking, this much I could tell.  In fact, it looked like the entire lake was sinking, judging by what little of the horizon I could see.  The trees and horizon line slowly got taller and taller from my vantage point.  We were descending inches a minute and the ground beneath me settled to a steady industrial hum; I was no longer violently thrown about.  Unfortunately, after a series of unlucky flops, I had come to rest nearly face down and could see virtually nothing.  After what felt like an eternity, the ice slab beneath me had reached the end of its journey.  Serenaded by the creaking of immense, unseen steel machinery, the ground shuddered and was still.

A gust of warm air blew over me and I felt the abominable cock enshrouding me shudder in response.  My dead-ass body was too far gone to do the same.  I heard what sounded like the many synchronized footsteps of some kind of military force approaching me from the same direction the warmth had come from. 
Was this the work of the Good Man? 
I recalled how bizarre and unexpected had been our last meeting in New New York.  President Julio Dominguez 消防公鸡 Obama had said he had been waiting for me.  He
me.  Was it farfetched to believe him capable of leveraging a subterranean stronghold to rescue me in my time of greatest need?

The sound of approaching marching grew in intensity and now I could tell that it was not marching.  Well, not any kind of marching I had ever heard.  There was a strong rhythm and syncopation to the stomping; it certainly wasn't militaristic.

In fact, it was almost

"It's...hip hop,"  I realized, astonished.  It was a song I knew well, one of Koochy's favorites:
Fuka Cash Until Nut Time (GoLean Mix).

"No," I told myself.  "Jesus.  You are hallucinating, Preston!"

The sound of the vulgar and avarice-praising urban anthem soon became all I could hear.  I felt as if I were being digested by a stereo system.  Was there some kind of amplifying effect at play or were there thousands of feet needed to achieve such a decibel level?  I wished so badly that I could see more out of my sole functioning eye slit.

At the moment I felt my eardrums would rupture at the sheer volume of the pounding feet, the stomping ceased entirely.

"SOUND OFF, SISTERS!" came the cry from what sounded like it must've been a twenty year old cheerleader from those old-world California movies.

The mad stomping resumed, but this time the rhythm was different.

" greens in my taco..." the rap lyrics fleeted through my memory but the name of the song escaped me.

"OMG, they are so...
!" sounded another young female voice from nearby.

"Ewww!  Look at that...
wrapped around... that other
!" came another.  I presumed she was talking about me and the boner-constrictor encircling my broken cadaver.

A general murmur of disgust began to rise from the unseen crowd.

"Sisters!" shouted a far more mature and authoritative voice.  "Sisters!"

Silence rushed in and surrounded us all. 

"Now," the commanding female voice continued.  "Prepare yourselves however you must.  We are going to get them... all of them."

There was general quiet agreement from the crowd that this was undesirable.

"We'll not go back without them.  The prophecy must be fulfilled."

"Like, this is
b.s.," a new pouty voice interrupted.  "That one is, like, totally even dead and stuff and... EWWW is that his... little penis?!  Oh, nuh uhhh!  I'm not touching


I heard the sound of someone getting slapped.  The grammatically incorrect protesting ceased at once.  Without another word, I felt several hands placed under the weight of my body, hoisting me off of the ground and turning me over.

I could see again!

Had I been able to gasp, I would have done so at the sight of my surroundings.  A subset of the face of the frozen lake had descended so far from the surface that I could not see the light of day.  Either that or it was night time by now.  There were a series of great iron gates surrounding the circular ice shelf at the bottom of the tremendous shaft.  I was held aloft and surrounded by a small army of young, beautiful Caucasian women.  Due to my severely impaired vision, I couldn't quite make out the details of these girls.  I could, however, clearly see what they began to do next.

!" one of the young women I could not see called out.  I recognized the authoritative voice from before.  It changed characteristics sharply before it continued, "One, and a two, three, four and a-"

The young women moved quickly to become more evenly spaced from each other.  As the commanding voice finished her beat count, the crowd began to dance in tight synchronization.  Immediately, I recognized it as an impressively choreographed routine from a chart-topping hip hop song from a few years ago, long before I had died and been reborn as my own son.

Even the women carrying me were dancing in harmony with their sisters.  Of course, this pained me unimaginably; my body, too fractured to provide any kind of support structure, was being pulled and twisted in the pinching grasps of these amazingly talented acapella dance performers.

"Marcus!" I yelled out in my mind as another group of girls gyrated into view carrying the corpse of my best friend.

"TK!"  My lover's frozen cadaver, with baby Sienna still solidly latched onto her right breast, followed Marcus and posse into my line of sight.

The group of cavorting ladies stopped when they reached one of the immense iron doors that bordered the sunken sheet of ice on which we stood.  As one, they turned on their heels and faced their leader.

"Sisters!" the eldest one commanded.  "We have journeyed far and waited long for this day.  We sailed across the great expanse to Ceres in our grief, only to lose many of our clan to the ravages of the Good Man's flotilla and the corruption of sex demons.  And our pink space yachts were totes ruined!  We carried our dead back to the ruins of the Vatican and prayed for forty days and nights there.  But we were blessed!"

Ka-leem-bo-geeeee-sus!  Ka-leem-bo-geeeee-sus!
" chanted the other nubile co-eds.

What the fuck were they saying?
I thought to myself.  It was almost like they were intoning my holy name, but not quite.

BOOK: Born Hard Again: Book Three of the Future Remembered Chronicles
8.3Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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