The Last Judges Uncut Chronicles
The Last Judges Uncut Chronicles
I n the month of August, on the evening of the greatest earthquake in the history of mankind, the sun sank strangely eclipsed and the moon waxed an eerie blood-red. Global, tectonic seizures rattled the very foundations of the Earth and, while the Australian, Antarctic, and American continents fared better than the Middle East and its Asian, African, and European neighbors, no city in the world remained unshaken. Meanwhile, a mysterious shower of meteors arrived to pelt the planet unceasingly for twenty-one hours, striking every nation in turn with a barrage of angry falling stars.
Over the next three months, most people struggled to preoccupy themselves, to forget the fearful phenomena.
H er brown eyes danced and shimmered with youth, contrasted by porcelain-pale skin despite the endless Arizona sun. Although sixteen-year-old Anima wore no makeup or jewelry, blue and purple strands in her short brown hair compensated. Sporting a loose, plain black T over long, baggy shorts and a ragged pair of blue hightops, Ani sped west through downtown Tucson, her skateboard hissing between the unsure traffic.
Almost blinded by the early-November afternoon sun, she muttered, "F'ing desert," and slapped on some shades.
Her shiny black dogs didn't seem to mind the glare; Suzy galloping in the lead, pulling the girl through the downtown avenues by her seven-foot rope leash, and Shamgar bounding at her heel, toting a makeshift array of bags.
Ani saluted the familiar homeless men laying on the sidewalk as she surfed past them.
In their stupor, the grungy bums waved adoringly.
She jumped a pothole for their entertainment and threw up a peace sign with her fingers.
They all smiled and hailed her with their brown bags.
Suzy knew the route well, but still waited for Ani's instructions.
With a yank on the rope, she steered the dog right and squatted on her board against the force of the turn, using an outstretched left arm for balance.
They slipped north on a wide, deserted road. Determined to hit twenty miles-per-hour, Suzy bore down on her harness and dug into the asphalt while Shamgar strode handsomely along, forever at the girl's heel.
Ani crouched low, reducing her drag.
The dogs were siblings, a Great Dane and German Shepard mix, both four years old and as black as oil. Besides their age and those black-stallion-like genetics, all that the canines really had in common was their love for Ani:
The stout Shamgar, with a super-shaggy coat that made him twice as giant, was a happy-go-lucky, everybody-loving, bouncy black bear of a mutt.
Suzy, however, was tall, lean and graceful with a short, silky coat. She was a barely-tamed bitch, a dark queen of anarchy, a what-the-hell-are-you-looking-at one-dog-army with an itchy trigger finger... except for with her love, Ani. Suzy wouldn't even play-fight with Ani.
Approaching the West Sixth Street intersection, they heard, "Qué onda, Punk Rock Girl?!"
Ani knew her classmate's voice before she distinguished him on the corner ahead, "Có;mo estás, Stepchild?!"
"Suzy!" the teenage boy exclaimed, "How's it hanging, momma!" He plucked his cigarette and stepped on his board, gliding toward the trio with a row of his foot. Shamgar sprinted ahead of his sister, charging for Stepchild, who bellowed boisterously, "What's up, Shammy!"
Ani dropped the leash and let her momentum carry her in a figure eight with her short, colorful hair fluttering in the breeze.
Stepchild was seventeen years old, bald-headed, six-foot-two and still lanky. He hopped from his board in the middle of the street as Shamgar skidded to a halt at his feet. "Hey bud.&rd