Eat Your Heart Out, Martin Luther King by Gordon Zola
Gazza blinked the sleep from his eyes. He leapt out of bed, shouting, ‘Mikey I’ve had a dream!".
‘Not that Rachel Riley and the whipped cream, one again.’ Mikey said, emerging from the bathroom, towelling his hair.
‘No,’ Gazza said wrestling with his dressing gown, getting his arm stuck in the tangled sleeve, as he tried to get it to submit. ‘I’ve gone off her, since she said all that anti-Semitic stuff about Corbyn. This was a proper dream. A Martin Luther King, type dream.’
‘I don’t want to disillusion you,’ Mikey replied, trying not to lapse into teaching mode, 'but Martin Luther King was a renowned black activist in the civil right’s movement in America, with loads of followers.
‘So, What’s the problem?’ said Gazza, discarding the dressing gown and tossing it on the bed as he materialised in the bedroom doorway.
‘Well, It’s just that you’re a white, freckled face, ginger haired, kid, from Lower Broughton, who’s Facebook posts barely get 5 likes.’.
‘It’s not ginger, it’s the colour of corn on a sun-kissed, morn,’ Gazza, retorted.
‘Yeah whatever,’ mouthed Mikey, slipping his Che Guevara t-shirt over his head, before retrieving the milk from the fridge.
‘This was a real dream. A prophetic one.’
‘A pathetic one, more likely,’ murmured Mikey.
‘You may, laugh,’ Gazza’ snapped, grabbing the stale milk off him, and pouring it down the sink. ‘But my dream could change the world.’
‘Come on then, I’m all ears. Tell me about this world changing dream.’
‘You’ll have to give me a minute. I’m a bit hazy on some of the details.’
‘Great,’ scoffed Mikey, ‘I can imagine Martin Luther King addressing the multitude:
“I had a dream...” and all the crowd waiting with baited breath to hear his wise words. Then he says, ‘Err..Can you give me a minute. I’m a bit hazy on some of the details.... What exactly do you remember then?'
‘Well,’ said Gazza, reluctantly substituting a glass of water for the morning cuppa, he’d been craving, ‘I think I’m supposed to form this revolutionary movement.’
‘You form a revolutionary movement?' screeched Mikey, ‘the only movement you’ve ever formed was in your, bowels. I’m not saying politics isn’t your strongpoint. But you thought Rishi Sunak, was Surrey’s opening batsman.’
‘You can take the piss all you want. But I know It’s my destiny. I have to follow my dream.’
‘Okay, Martin Luther,’ Mikey, said, stifling a laugh, ‘Besides you, me and Plato’, he said, pointing at the puzzled cat who’d come bounding into the kitchen, ‘Who’s going to be in this revolutionary party’?
‘Well,' said Gazza, nearly tripping over the cat. …’I thought that maybe, I’d contact that Stammer, bloke, the new Labour leader.’
Keir Starmer?' replied Mikey, hitting a note only audible to dogs and extra-terrestials, ‘Keir Starmer, helping to form a revolutionary party. Dream on Bro. He’s turned into more of a right winger than Mason Greenwood has for United. You’ve got more chance of realising your dream about Rachel Riley’ and the whipped cream.’
‘I’ have had other dreams’, said Gazza, trudging back to his bedroom.