Opening by @f3nix
Auntie Masha‘ n the God’s Mistakes / every day on FRINGE -FM! / We will lure them, interview them / fun and tortures never end! "
The radio anchor's words glide over the frantic notes of the jingle like an old rusted Cessna.
"We're still here! I know, my lobotomized listeners, you too are amazed that your beloved auntie is still broadcasting on the frequencies of... "
"Stop with the preambles, old wino!" The voices of the three God's Mistakes recall a misplaced cross between Smeagol and the Chipmunks. In the studio, plastered with purple sound-proofing cones, the three animated puppets stare at Masha with lusty and murderous eyes. In a quick flash, the radio host instinctively thinks about the many crossroads of her life.
"Let's all welcome the most annoying and useless voices in the whole history of radio broadcasting from Edison to nowadays. Don't interrupt me, at least not at the beginning of the program, damn puppets..."
"...Cursed the stoned producer who wanted you," the host adds a quick note in her mind.
"Hey granny, we are co-hosts, not voices.” The felt creatures stand assertively.
"As we said, my bizarre radio listeners, here we are at our usual appointment with Masha's spicey interviews. Today we have an exceptional guest who certainly does not need introductions: directly from Berlin, Kurt Kükenvernichter, the one who returned metal music to the wide public. You know, Kurt, that auntie won't allow you to exit this studio without you having confessed at least some sordid and succulent secret.” The presenter begins to press. "For starters, we want to know how you managed to convert post-millennials around the world to your music."
Meanwhile, it seems that Kurt has decided to ignore the presentation. The round sound of his flask's stopper popping is not even captured by the microphone that already the singer has gulped down a sip of grog, dark and thick like tar. He slowly approaches the loudspeaker and greets his fans - especially the female ones - with a bronze baritone voice.
"Anyway, I never converted anyone. In these shitty times, I saw an empty throne and sat there."
"Aha. Sure. On thrones, photos of you collapsed on a toilet have been leaked from the net in the last few days. It is said to have been an exclusive party in Miami. Not exactly an image in line with the Kurt we all know. Do you want to deny or give us some clarification?” If radio frequencies could take shape, listeners would now see a scythe.
"They are all ... I was saying ... hhhhh ... it's all a pathetic charade!" The shrill voice of a clown who sniffed early-morning helium extrudes from the singer's throat as from an occluded sphincter.
"What the fuck was that?" Auntie Masha leaps in shock from the chair. The God’s Mistake for once are silent, overwhelmed by a more absurd voice than theirs and looking at each other with lost pointy eyes.
Time is strange on radio and silence represents an abomination against nature. Five interminable seconds pass before the host manages to recover and decides to send the advertisement break. Kurt has already thrown himself out of the studio, making shrill desperate blows. In fading out, a coarse puppet's laugh resounds.
In the loft, the thick curtains are still those of the old printing works. The late rays of the sun filter through the large dirty windows together with the sounds of the offices being emptied. A man wrapped in black leather and studs is spread on a padded velvet chaise long while, at the end of the room, another figure sits composed giving him his back.
"You see, Doctor, my voice is everything, why did it start to betray me? I can't understand what's happening to me. I feel violated by a dark and perverse part of myself. Under this thick layer of metal, there is a sensitive heart and I don't think I can stand this anymore."
As he confesses, Kurt hears a little music coming from behind the back of the chair. It looks like something already heard.
"Doctor?"
"Isn't this riff I just invented beautiful?" Asks the therapist to the air with a gloating triumph note in his voice. Kurt pokes his head out and sees him fiddling with a tiny electric ukulele.
"Actually I think it's Smoke On The Water, Doc."
The chair snaps in a flash of lightning.
"Kurt, I have the solution but it won't be easy and requires your blind trust in me." Dr. Machete smiles as a strange light moves through his eyes. Struck by dusty beams of light, he looks like a sly Cheshire Cat.
My Ending
There’s something disconcertingly familiar about Dr Machete, Kurt fumbles through his wooly thoughts trying to reach it, yet it slips his grasp like a dropped stitch fallen from the tip of a knitting needle.
“Whatever it takes Doc.”
Kurts squeaky voice jars through him, only worsened by the treacle tones of Machete whispering lyrics to the ukulele, his tune slipping to a different riff. “The rusted chains of prison moons, are shattered by the sun.”
Kurt stares at the therapist, unable to pull his glassy eyes away from the imposing doctor. He instantly recognises the words, yet as the title of the song vanishes into the fuzz of his mind, Kurt clings to the thin thread of hope Auntie Masha had dangled before him.
Masha had raced out of radio station after him, horror jeweling her brow in rhinestone sweat.
“I always hoped that wasn’t how you got your voice. You should have kept your end of the deal, you big shots never learn.”
Kurt had gawped at her pale face.
“Take this.” She’d shoved a scribbled note into his pocket, “No one else can help you now, and I can’t deal with another one in the studio. Go tonight, before it claims all of you.”
Stalking back towards the building, she’d disappeared through the scuffed sidedoor.
It had been a long drive into the cold clamour of night to the location on that note; an old crossroads made redundant by the bypass. Auntie Masha was a legend, she’d helped many an artist suffering the burden of ‘Gods Gift’, rumour had it, she’d saved all but three. Kurt trusted her.
Stood on the junction, the silence of the desolate settled over him. Eased out in a shrill tone that’d cut through the still air, the words he needed had come to him... along with Dr Machete.
Kurt finds his hand raising, rocking through the air in time with tune, apparently unable to resist the motion.
Machete nods, his sharp eyes dart over Kurt, taking in the thick fuzz of his skin, the jerky motion of his limp wrist.
“They say God doesn’t make mistakes, but he believes in man… sounds like we have a deal.”
The doctor sets aside his ukulele, Kurt finds himself unable to turn his head by his own volition, he doesn’t see the hands reaching for a syringe. His felted skin doesn’t feel the needle pierce it as the man, barely recognisable as such, slips under the spell of sedation.
A groggy tingly sensation fills Kurts limbs, awareness scratches up his dry throat. He tries to open his eyes, blackness refuting the movement of his eyelids. Parting his lips, his voice once again eases out the bronze baritone he’s famous for.
“I can’t see…”
“It had to be a deal you couldn’t break this time. You said you’d blindly trust me, and I couldn’t handle another goddamned puppet on Fringe FM.”
The sightless musician, otherwise recovered, finds himself stood on a deserted crossroads, the morning fog brushes his warm skin, distant notes of lyrics echoing in his awareness.
“The yellow jester does not play
But gently pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance
In the court of the crimson king”
The song lyrics featured in the ending are from a song by King Crimson titled The Court Of The Crimson King. It took a few reads for this opening to soak in but then I could just see how I could make some of the pieces fit together, a few of them fell to the word count here (536), so I very much hope the overall plot comes across still. This is one of the openings that gives so much, I very much look forward to seeing all the other ways this is finished off. Very much a post and dash for now, should be able to catch up with everything tomorrow.
This is an entry to @bananafish's weekly contest #finishthestory, this week we have another brilliant opening by @f3nix who is joined at the helm this week by @theironfelix - there is plenty of time left to enter, so if you would have gone another way with this ending, head over and give it a go
Photo Credit
By Pixabay User Yakir who only has a few images, some textures, others wonderful photographs such as this!
Mortipus by Mad Uncle Art StudiosMy contest - Tell A Story To Me - is back over on @bananafish
Check out the latest round - Big Brother's Got Your Back - a prompt about the future of smart tech in the home. Head over for the full prompt - open until April 15th
As I head to bed, I want to leave this comment here right now to remind me that I have to leave a proper comment here. (Will tell yah when I do so.) For now: I love this potentially first blood entry? Will have to check timestamps but this story is nice and chilling, especially with the Crimson King poem at the end~ c: Wonder what @f3nix will say~
Well, I feel a bit sicky and I still love this post, but I shan’t give my thoughts for form or analysis except this: I love the usage of the Tres Culos team with you using Mendoza, keeping up with the dream-esque reality while sticking in just right talks of the music industry (in ties with radio/broadcasting), the usage of italics when appropriate and again the song at the very end encapsulating the entire post. But we all know that we read my comments for the poems, so let’s get to them :p
- Puppeteering -
want to rule the World
by yourself at the top
and just puppets below?
How bad doth thy life hast to be
that you cannot trust others
but you yourself a Saint
- art thou hypocrite?
When will you realize that
“nothing is sacred, or absolute,
for all times” in the entirety
of the Universe, dear puppeteer?
But say that we need to be controlled
as I fight back you rulers and History sweeps
away the ruling crass of the Universe and life goes
- moving without yah or anyone of your class now.
[In reaction to the subject of puppet-puppeteer, you museful meretrix :p]
It's actually a song! And an epic one at that
Aww yey, glad you love it. Oops, I didn't really tie into the band or Mendoza, I know this was supposed to fit into that universe but I just had fun playing off the first half and thought I'd leave that to those more apt for the Tres Culos gang. And you're right the radio broadcast in the first half would have been such a good leaping off point to tie into the music industry, bet you would've written a fun ending for this one :p I had wanted to have some song lyrics in there and I thought of it right away and then when I checked and saw the yellow jester line I had to include it for you :p plus it seemed like an appropriate song for a rock/metal crossroads demon to play as he fades out after a successful deal.
Sweet little poem you have there, now if only they could have got a puppeteer to keep those felted radio cohosts in check :p you'll have to do another poem expo when the results are out <3
Addenum: your post structured it as a poem, but right after you stated it was a song so I wanted to poke at the fact that it behaved like a poem :p
Edit: @calluna - Ah, gotcha but we still have to deal with that giant elephant of the Tres Culos as it chokes us both. And how did you know I would do such a fun [and bloody and probably horrific] ending? :p But I especially loved the jester line, reminds me of some Jevil and me in general but I dunno.
And they do need a puppeteer to keep them co-hosts in check!~ And I do need a poem expo, want to help me with that one?
Yeah maybe should have put them all as one line, oh well, lazy :p glad it works reading more like a poem though <3
Hmm I suppose it should address the canon when we all know it's kinda intended as a tie in, oh well :p now I wonder what gave me a hint :p haha awww yey I was hoping it kinda would <3
Now that would have been a much better solution for auntie masha haha. Of course, we just need some more entries this round to inspire you <3
~Mwah!~ :*3
Oh well is the correct answer here :p I :p really, :p really :p do :p wonder :p now :p mój :p Ukochany!~ :p And yay! Glad that it worked out <3
Well, we shall see what we shall see <3
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Aww yey! Thank you Victor <3
Proszę, mój Ukochany!!!!~
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<3<3 thank you so very much <3
Very deliciously cruel. you went all Old Testament on Kurt. Great work
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It was just too tempting a route to resist, thank you! <3
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I love the depth that you gave to the story. There's a whole background about Masha and Machete. There are gifts that you regret to ask and rules that transcend our egotic human wishes. I liked the noir atmosphere and that touch of Voodoo mixed with the alchemic rule of the equivalent trade. Superb!
Marvelous story, Cal! The truth of Kurt's affliction revealed through your details (wooly, stitch, thin threads, etc.) tantalizes the reader with the notion that the three 'God's Mistakes' are more than simply creations for a radio show. The explanation of those three being the only ones Masha had been unable to help was creative, though I now want to read their backstories.
You had me laughing with 'God's Gift' as it was not only a connection to the beginning but also fitting after Kurt's line regarding the 'empty throne'.
Love that you brought in the lore of a crossroads (another fantastic tie in from Auntie Masha's 'many crossroads' in the beginning), as a nod to the lore of those willing to make a deal (often with the Devil) where two realms touch.
Kurt's price in the end, wrapping up the promise from the beginning, felt like a more than fair trade. He did agree, after all. 😉
P.S. Think the Doc can play 'Tiptoe Through The Tulips'?
~Bris
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