Opening by 
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 
Photo Credit
By Pixabay User Yakir who only has a few images, some textures, others wonderful photographs such as this!Have you heard?
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