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In Joe Wilkinson's dream, the crowd is electric. The audience cheers and applauds thunderously. He can feel their energy, their desire, their hopefulness. It's crowds like these that made him become a comedian, the hot thrill coiling in his belly, knowing they are cheering for him, adults and tots alike.
He's on a huge stage, the color red is everywhere: The curtains, the walls, the carpet, everything is red. Even the scalloped ceiling is red. In the front row of the audience, he can see the other four there: Doc, Jon, Katherine, and Richard. They sit in order, with a seat wedged between Doc and Jon that is saved for him. As much as the rest of the crowd is cheering, they cheer even harder.
Joe looks off stage right. There he can see Greg and Alex, standing, waiting. Alex is inscrutable as always, holding Patatas like a bond villain. Greg looks happy, excited as the rest are. They are waving him further onto the stage, waiting for his big moment.
Joe takes a shaky breath. He looks down at himself. Nope, he's not naked. His skin is covered by his jacket. He's not flying or falling. He hasn't eaten his pillow or shot an elephant in his pyjamas (what he was doing in my pajamas, I'll never know!) His teeth haven't fallen out and he isn't late for exams. No, none of the classic dream tropes are true. It's just him and the chip on his shoulder, in the middle of the stage, with everything to prove.
He's been aware that there was something in his hand the whole time, but he hasn't hashed out what it is yet. He feels strangely comforted by the weight of it. It's large in his hand and dense. It's not a perfect shape, it has a certain unevenness to it. He holds it tighter knowing what he has to do.
He knows what will happen if he is successful. Katherine will run on stage and kiss him. Hell, Jon will run on the stage and kiss him. Greg will come out from behind the curtains with the shining golden trophy and give it to Joe, its rightful owner. Alex will congratulate him. He'll be a hero. Then they'll all go to the pub and get smashed. Piece of cake, right?
He's hot, roasting. His blood is boiling but it's time to roll. Joe takes a shaky step towards the center of the stage, the only part that isn't red. The rough wooden boards creak under his feet. The thunderous crowd settles into a crisp silence. His legs feel like soup. He's not sure he can take the pressure.
I have to do this, he thinks. I've frittered my life away. I need to prove myself. He closes his eyes and envisions victory.
Joe opens his eyes, lines it up and throws.