This contest is a lot of fun to take part in so make sure you check it out. I had been so busy I have missed a few weeks. But I am glad to be back. Only 2 days left to enter but you can read some and vote for the best to help us all out. To vote you look for a comment on the post asking for votes and reply. This week was hard to stay under 500 words. I was at 900 when I was done with my first draft. I had to edit a lot of it out but I hope you enjoy.

Pointy Eyes Shine In The Dark
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

“Doc, do what you have to.”

Dr. Machete hands Kurt a pill. Then he swallows one and falls to the floor. Kurt looks down at the pill in his hand. “Blind Trust”. Kurt takes the pill, things go black.

The doctor’s assistant comes into the room and moves both of them. There is a machine in the new room and she attaches it to their heads.

Kurt’s mind comes to life. He is sitting in a room with an empty table in front of him. Dr. Machete walks in.

“I am glad you took the pill. We are both connected to a machine I have been working on to unlock the secrets of the mind. I am going to take you to find that part inside you that betrays your voice. Then you can embrace your sensitive heart or destroy it.”

“I need you to try and let in the feels that betray you.”

Kurt closed his eyes and tried it hit him at last. A smile came to his lips. He let out in a squeak “Found it”

“Open your eyes”

Kurt looked around he was outside a perfect looking house in a nice neighborhood. He was home. A home he had almost forgotten about. The perfect little home where he had been the perfect little boy until he found Metal.

“It’s my childhood home.”

“This place with flowers and birds singing. This is the home of Kurt the God of Metal. How can it be? Is that your mom taking the extra care to cut the crust off your sandwich.”

“I am a fake….I had it so good and found a way to fake the anger.”

“Are you sure Kurt? Think of that anger let it grow in you”

Kurt pictured his first show. He was so angry that day. When he opened his eyes the house looked differently broken.

“I don’t see your Dad around? Your mom didn’t even talk to you when she gave you lunch.

“He always worked. All she did was watch TV. I grew so tired of fake hugs. TIRED OF FAKE LOVE.”

“There is that voice, so which one is real, Kurt?”

The Doctor walked over to Kurt and handed him a can of gas and a matchbook.

“You are going to have to decide. Was it a perfect home or a broken one? Close your eyes again find what is real.”

Kurt shut his eyes and let his heart take control. He opened his eyes and saw the perfect house in front of him.

“I guess you did have it good.”

“No, I made a choice and I am going to forget this.”

Kurt poured gas all over the house. He started the fire and watched. He heard the screams of the memories inside as they burned away.

“What have your done Kurt?

“What I had to doctor”

Kurt woke up. He felt different something was missing.

“Did it work doctor?” His bronze baritone voice was back.

image source

Image by @EdibleCthulhu