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Luke
14 December 2002
Oh, whoops, there I went again. No entries here for altogether too long. I'd like to blame another outage on the site, but actually it's me that's been out. Lots. Having said that, I was in last night, but entertaining: playing host to Kate's daughter Alba, while Kate went to the office party. Karaoke, apparently; I have never admired her sense of duty more. Alba and I had fun, watching cheap Saturday television and eating prawn curry. All this after I'd spent the day house-cleaning, to the extent of scrubbing the kitchen floor; never did displacement have a more eager servant.
Today I am working, though. This month is the deadline for submissions to a Cemetery Dance anthology, horror/dark fantasy stories set in an inn, pub or tavern. How could I resist? I practically live in the Bodega, my local inn, pub or tavern; they're going to rename it 'Chaz'z Office' any day now (well, they better had; as a joke, it's getting tired). Besides, this particular story is an opportunity to revisit an old friend, and perpetrate a literary pun. I always meant to write more about Luke, the fallen angel from Dispossession, and could there be a better season or an excuse more fit? I think not. So I am, I'm having him walk into the Bodega and see what happens after. But I also always wanted to offer him some choice, at least a hope of some kind of redemption; and so I shall, and so the story's called 'Luke, Homeward Angel'. The grinding sound you hear is Thomas Wolfe's jaw, committing friction.
© Chaz Brenchley 2002
Reproduced here by permission of Chaz Brenchley, who asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.