Who Would want to Meet Them?

"I'm just nervous Terry, is that OK for you? Everything fine and dandy?"

"Well yeah, but there's no need to be a dick about... jesus."

"I have to be a dick though, cos' otherwise nothing gets through to you Terry, that's the fucking problem, you can be so anal about shit."

"Sorry John, you know I only do it to try and help you out, I don't mean anything by it, I just know you can do better, you were made for this Tel."

"Ok, well yeah, but sometimes you just need to chill out a bit."

"So going forward, I just...shut up or...?"

"No, well, you can say whatever you want, just the tone, and like give it some time before you launch into the hype-up-speech- shout-thing."

"Alright, shake on it?"

"Shake on it."

Wow, that seems like quite a predicament Terry and John found themselves in, but testament to their friendship that they found a solution and communicated clearly to one another. What a fantastic example of solidarity in reaching an end goal!

Brilliant!

Terry and John often quarrelled like petulant schoolboys testing one another's nerves, seeing how far they could push it until one inevitably snaps like a ruler, but today they had to truly band together. They had a performance today, and it was a particularly special one.

The dressing rooms were always a bit naff, dingy- a smell of mildew permeating throughout. To seasoned theatre actors, it was a comforting smell, a familiar room, thought of with fondness, encapsulating their favourite memories from the 1000000th production of Stomp.

Terry and John were not seasoned pros, they had decided to perform for one week, a standalone production, the ingeniously titled "Untitled Project"- Ground-breaking.

Revolutionary!

Captivating.

Not at all first year at a performing arts college.

No way, no how.

They had spent their entire life's waiting for this moment, this final performance, this momentous spectacle. Both hitting the late 40's side of life, it was about time they executed the show- flawlessly.

"Does this look alright John?"

"What?"

"My toupee, it looks believable, no one's gonna notice it?"

"Tilt your head a bit... nah, you 're good."

"You would tell me if it looked off though, it is the finale, it has to be as my Mum would say- magnifico!"

"Terry, as much as I love hearing about your Mum and her wildly inappropriate use of any language that isn't English, no one's gonna be looking at your toupee when we finish. They'll have, as my Mum says, bigger fish to fly."

"God really did bless us with the most, and I don't say this lightly John, poetically gifted mothers."

"Yup."

"Sometimes I wonder if I was born at the same time as her, I'd have a chance with her, y'know..."

"Terry, as we have discussed many times... I completely agree."

"Solidarity?"

"Solidarity."

The hum of the expectant audience could be heard through the floorboards, the sound drifting up towards them liked smoke in a fire. All of them excited, to have been invited to such an exclusive event, invite only, very German nightclub of Terry and John. Don't be fooled by the general buffoonery you'd expect of two 40-year-old men independently financing their own theatre production, they had a crumb of class, and a handful of connections. Plus, it helped that they both had such revere and respect for the medium itself. Terry boasted to an unlucky street pastor, that he had met the late great Jean-Luc Therioulx, the street pastor, hadn't the heart to tell him that Jean-Luc, was very much alive, and very much going through a civil action lawsuit filed by 20 young actors and actresses.

John had always been coy with his accomplishments despite appearing in 5 adverts for Viagra, as he simply had that "look about him." His latest advert, aired over 6 years ago, but he thought displayed his best work, as "man confused with the premise of opening a jar without the aid of Grip Daddy." A haunting and melancholic portrayal challenging the very nature of humanity.

These two ARTISTS were to be a sight to behold, the finale would be their blaze of glory, their charging into the no man’s land, guns ablaze, a befitting send off to these two titans of theatre and art.

"How long we got Tel?"

"'Bout 10 minutes, you good, you're props ok, got it ready?"

"Oooops, good point, lemme' check-yeah it's fine, just needed a quick sharpen."

"You gotta keep it sharp or it won't give us that final pizazz, that je ne sais quoi."

"Roger that, Tel."

"Do you remember Roger, John?"

"Do I remember Roger?!"

"Errrrr."

"Of course I remember Roger! The cunt that slept with my sister, aunt, tried it with my mum till I started crying, and then thought, oh yeah, y'know what mate, two out of three isn't too bad is it. Fucking cunt. Why'd you bring him up Tel?! We're going on in less than 10 minutes you cretin."

"I dunno...I wasn't thinking, I-"

"No, you weren't thinking, were you."

"Heyyy, look. Let's just bygones be bygones, it's the final night. Solidarity remember?"

"Huhhhhh, solidarity Tel. Now, get your shit together and we'll make our way up to the stage."

"Niceeee."

The twosome made their way up the battered stairs, the light melodic music getting louder and louder drowning out the heavy clunk of their boots. Making their way through the flimsy stage door, taking their starting positions in the wings, waiting for the lights to dim to the reddish hue, they'd now grown accustomed to.

Now, many theatre productions don't proceed without something going wrong, however it seemed to be Terry and John's extremely lucky day!

Not a hitch went wrong, the jokes were getting the raucous laughter they needed, the dramatic moments left a weight in the air, the majestic and elaborate interpretive dance- standing ovation. The audience were in the palm of their, now sweaty hands, which they could dry off during intermission.

"This might be the best one yet John!"

"I think it might be Tel, it just feels soo right, right now, I'm buzzing! Look at my hand mate! Pure adrenaline that!"

"Honestly though buddy, savour this moment it's only gonna happen once, let’s do this!"

"Solidarity?"

"To the end Tel, to the end."

Intermission over the audience hurriedly returned to their seats, eager to experience the climax of the jaw-dropping spectacle

The reddish lights came back up, the sound of two deadbolts went unheard by the crowd, but a silence fell as Terry and John made their way from the back of the theatre up onto the stage.

The two men embraced each other, rather tenderly, a would-be beautiful moment if not soon accompanied with the shrieks and wails of the unbeknownst victims of the madness of Terry and John.

Once the entire 30 seat theatre had been quenched of any life bar their own, Terry and John, stood upon their reckoning, swords in hand, giving each other a small but meaningful nod.

Returning to the stage, each at opposite sides, faces adorned with their newly acquired "stage make up", both men brandished their swords, and gleefully charged at each other.

In Memoriam to Terry "I-wanted-to-fuck-my-mum" Saunders, and John "I-just-wanted-to-fuck" Pritchard.