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Three Blind Muse: Gallery Spoon Smile

Its everyone's favorite time of the week; the moment you've all been waiting for: Three Blind Muse. This week we did, as the title suggests, Gallery Spoon Smile. Three Excellent Choices.

But before we go ahead, we need to tally the scores from last week: With one vote for Blizzard 2016 and one vote forThe Character's Court, we have another tie. Reminds me oflast week's post:

Blah Blah Blah, no one votes. Blah Blah Blah, maybe I should have figured out that no one's reading this blog.  Blah Blah Blah dreams crushed under the weight of a cold, uncaring world. 

Wait a minute: one last vote just trickled in through the interwebs. Who could it be for? Blizzard 2016!


By the power vested in me by Shakespeare, Kafka, Swift, Nabokov, Milton, Chaucer, Solzhenitsyn, London, Faulkner, Tolstoy, Conan-Doyle, Poe, Steinbeck, Twain, Goethe, Descartes, Mill, Dickens, Tolkien, Hemingway, Orwell, Joyce, Fitzgerald, Wilde, Vonnegut, Rand, Woolf, Camus, Melville, Dahl, Huxley, Bradbury, Blake, Sheldon, Shelley, Beckett, Nietzsche, Emerson, Lawrence, Sartre, Thoreau, Chekhov, Lewis, Salinger, Dostoevsky, and, most of all, Chuck Norris, I declare Robert Clifford Davis III, begat of Robert Clifford Davis, Jr, begetter of Robert James Davis, as this week's undisputed Champion of the the free world of Three Blind Muse. It's about F*&king time. Took you people long enough. A#%holes. Seriously. I've been giving you F*&king gold for three weeks, people. Make like a straw and Suck it. 


Oh. No. I read it wrong. It was actually a vote for The Character's Court. That means Christina won. Yeah. 


 Anyway. Here's this week's entries. I stand behind everything I said.

Reclamation

Capo gave me a wry smile as he clicked on his intercom. “Another spinner.”

He kicked at the rubble, clearing shards of pottery and wood until we could see a blackened hand. It shook like palsy. “Pull it out.”

“I hate these Infects”, I mumbled. Ever since the change, we’ve spent all our time flying to earth and burning off the stain of what used to be humanity.

“You could be one, you know.” He smiled at me again, motioning at my bio-suit.  “What do you think this place used to be?”

“Before the cleansing?” I surveyed the room. “I don’t know. Museum? Picture gallery? There’s a lot of crap on the walls. Maybe some wealthy guy’s house.”

“Well, the silver spoon didn’t help this guy any”, Capo observed, poking the discolored corpse with the muzzle of his M326 heat rifle as I pulled it from the debris. It flailed like it was trying to get up. Capo pulled his trigger, turning it to dust in a matter of seconds.

I turned to Capo, “What do you say we fly back up to SOH318, clean up, and wait for the next supply delivery?”

“Sure. Some dinner sounds good, Johnny Cake”

A Capital Offense

John dropped his spoon absentmindedly into his empty soup bowl.

“Need something?” asked the waitress.

“No, ma’am,” John said, shifting his gaze toward the door.

She followed his eyes. “Got any plans?”

“I’m going to the theater,” he answered, grabbing the bill and pulling out his wallet.

He threw cash on the table and headed outside. He kept his head down and walked across the street.

There was a crush of people pushing their way in. The crowd was hoping to get a glimpse of the honored guest. They didn’t realize that they would be witnesses to history.

John slid his way through the crowd and made it into the lobby. He handed over his ticket and bounded up the stairs.

The second floor outside the balcony was oddly empty. John paused to take in a gallery of paintings. His heart jumped when he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Can you believe all these people for a play?” the stranger chuckled. “I’m only here because my wife dragged me… Sorry, I should introduce myself. My name is Louis Smith. What’s yours?”

“John Wilkes Booth,” he said with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

So, what do you think? Is there a clear winner this week? Use the comment section below or send an email torcdavis3rd@gmail.com to enter your vote for this week's Three Blind Muse winner. We'll announce the winner next week. 

The three words for next week's contest are:


Binge Gossip Hamburger

Sweetness!

We'll be putting our stories together here at Ashford Living. 
And if you want to be a guest writer, send your story to me, rcdavis3rd@gmail.com
Remember to follow the rules. If you do, we'd be more than happy to have you in the show! 

Three Blind Muse: Duty Bra Crowd

Its everyone's favorite time of the week; the moment you've all been waiting for: Three Blind Muse. This week we did, as the title suggests, Duty Bra Crowd. Snap, Crackle, Pop.

But before we go ahead, we need to tally the scores from last week: 


Dead heat - 1 to 1




And now for this week's selections:

A Great First Impression

Mary pushed her way through the crowd toward the turnstile and up the stairs. She was immediately swept along by the crowd of professionals making their way to work along the sidewalks of midtown Manhattan.

She tried not to panic as she scanned hesitantly looking for her new office building. She always managed to get turned around when emerging from the Subway. It didn’t help that her new bra was cutting uncomfortably into her shoulder and that her brand new high heels gave her no traction.

Finally. The front door. She navigated the revolving door and approached the guard on duty.

“Hi,” Mary said quietly. The guard was busy chatting with a coworker. “Hi!” she said, louder. Now it felt like everyone in the busy lobby was looking at her.

“Yeah. Ugh. What can I do for you?” the guard asked.

“I need a pass for the office of Turner Tryon & Lewis,” she said. “It’s my first day.”

“Turner’s not here anymore. They moved downtown last week,” he said, turning back to the other guard.

Mary’s eyes flashed to the clock above the guard’s desk. 8:55 a.m.

“Shit,” she said, swiveling toward the exit.

Championship

Will looked out across the crowd that had gathered below his hotel balcony. It was a mass of all available people, all available dress, and all available colors. Some were smiling, celebrating; others were simply there for the spectacle. He saw a young lady with her bra exposed, a young man pouring beer on his friends. Red cups were strewn across the sidewalks, rolling back and forth in the cold night breeze while chants arose and died off in the excitement.

A police officer slowly trotted through the crowd, parting the revelers as he went, people closing in behind as he passed. He was obviously not there to break up the impromptu party, just doing his duty to protect and serve, should the need arise, and remind everyone of his presence.

“You want to go down join the fun?” Will asked through the open sliding glass door. “No, it’s a little late” came the reply.

A small group appeared with a wagon and a keg of beer just as Will turned back toward the street. He paused, thought, glance back through the door, and hopped out onto the fire escape to make the quick climb down to the street.

So, what do you think? Is there a clear winner this week? Use the comment section below or send an email torcdavis3rd@gmail.com to enter your vote for this week's Three Blind Muse winner. We'll announce the winner next week. 

The three words for next week's contest are:

Signature Shorts Garden


Knock it out!


We'll be putting our stories together here at Ashford Living. And if you want to be a guest writer, send your story to me, rcdavis3rd@gmail.com. Remember to follow the rules. If you do, we'd be more than happy to have you in the show! 

Three Blind Muse: Binge Gossip Hamburger

Its everyone's favorite time of the week; the moment you've all been waiting for: Three Blind Muse. This week we did, as the title suggests, Binge Gossip Hamburger. Three Excellent Choices.

But before we go ahead, we need to tally the scores from last week: 

No votes. Zero.


And for this week's entries:

Ghost Twinkies

Amanda’s was an obsession. Keeping late hours, she could be seen traveling around town, chatting with those she met along the way, giving them impassioned pleas for help, assuring them she was in the know, pausing only briefly to crowd out her tired in a binge of designer coffee and fast food hamburgers, recharged, only to rush off again for more.  

Family became an afterthought. Children were neglected. Teachers and fellow parents alike would gossip. What made her this way? How could her husband not get her help? Was there anything they could do? Was there someone you could call about this type of thing?

She knew that it was only a matter of time. If she could just keep up her stamina, keep her thoughts focused, stay in the hunt for just a few more hours, she would get there.  If there was a simpler way, then she hoped one day she could find it. But for now, if she was going to get the signatures she needed to put Proposition 13:  A Resolution to Ban the Dye Yellow 14 from Cream Filled Pastry Type Products on the ballot, then this was how it needed to be done. 

Looking for Answers

Sarah pulled her head up from the toilet. She had gone to an extreme with her binge. It started innocently enough with yogurt and some grapes. But then she added cookies, a reheated hamburger, a bag of potato chips… After that her memory was foggy.

She hated binging. But lately the smallest thing could send her into a tailspin. Today it had been overhearing some gossip at the office. Rebecca, the receptionist, was whispering to Craig that the boss was going to fire someone. Neither had mentioned Sarah’s name, but as she ruminated on what she had heard she began to convince herself that her days were numbered. Then, as she left the office for the day, her boss was leaving, too. But he had walked right by her. Hadn’t even bothered to say good-bye. Well, that was enough for Sarah to sink into a deep depression.

She tried to fight the urge to stuff her face when she got home, but things got out of control quickly. And now she was here, under the glare of the bathroom lights.

“What now?” she asked, cringing at the reflection she saw in the mirror.

So, what do you think? Is there a clear winner this week? Use the comment section below or send an email torcdavis3rd@gmail.com to enter your vote for this week's Three Blind Muse winner. We'll announce the winner next week. 

The three words for next week's contest are:


Duty Bra Crowd





Put that in your pipe and smoke it!






We'll be putting our stories together here at Ashford Living. 
And if you want to be a guest writer, send your story to me, rcdavis3rd@gmail.com
Remember to follow the rules. If you do, we'd be more than happy to have you in the show! 

Three Blind Muse: Gallery Spoon Smile

Its everyone's favorite time of the week; the moment you've all been waiting for: Three Blind Muse. This week we did, as the title suggests, Gallery Spoon Smile. Three Excellent Choices.

But before we go ahead, we need to tally the scores from last week: With one vote for Blizzard 2016 and one vote for The Character's Court, we have another tie. Reminds me of last week's post:

Blah Blah Blah, no one votes. Blah Blah Blah, maybe I should have figured out that no one's reading this blog.  Blah Blah Blah dreams crushed under the weight of a cold, uncaring world. 

Wait a minute: one last vote just trickled in through the interwebs. Who could it be for? Blizzard 2016!


By the power vested in me by Shakespeare, Kafka, Swift, Nabokov, Milton, Chaucer, Solzhenitsyn, London, Faulkner, Tolstoy, Conan-Doyle, Poe, Steinbeck, Twain, Goethe, Descartes, Mill, Dickens, Tolkien, Hemingway, Orwell, Joyce, Fitzgerald, Wilde, Vonnegut, Rand, Woolf, Camus, Melville, Dahl, Huxley, Bradbury, Blake, Sheldon, Shelley, Beckett, Nietzsche, Emerson, Lawrence, Sartre, Thoreau, Chekhov, Lewis, Salinger, Dostoevsky, and, most of all, Chuck Norris, I declare Robert Clifford Davis III, begat of Robert Clifford Davis, Jr, begetter of Robert James Davis, as this week's undisputed Champion of the the free world of Three Blind Muse. It's about F*&king time. Took you people long enough. A#%holes. Seriously. I've been giving you F*&king gold for three weeks, people. Make like a straw and Suck it. 


Oh. No. I read it wrong. It was actually a vote for The Character's Court. That means Christina won. Yeah. 


 Anyway. Here's this week's entries. I stand behind everything I said.

Reclamation

Capo gave me a wry smile as he clicked on his intercom. “Another spinner.”

He kicked at the rubble, clearing shards of pottery and wood until we could see a blackened hand. It shook like palsy. “Pull it out.”

“I hate these Infects”, I mumbled. Ever since the change, we’ve spent all our time flying to earth and burning off the stain of what used to be humanity.

“You could be one, you know.” He smiled at me again, motioning at my bio-suit.  “What do you think this place used to be?”

“Before the cleansing?” I surveyed the room. “I don’t know. Museum? Picture gallery? There’s a lot of crap on the walls. Maybe some wealthy guy’s house.”

“Well, the silver spoon didn’t help this guy any”, Capo observed, poking the discolored corpse with the muzzle of his M326 heat rifle as I pulled it from the debris. It flailed like it was trying to get up. Capo pulled his trigger, turning it to dust in a matter of seconds.

I turned to Capo, “What do you say we fly back up to SOH318, clean up, and wait for the next supply delivery?”

“Sure. Some dinner sounds good, Johnny Cake”

A Capital Offense

John dropped his spoon absentmindedly into his empty soup bowl.

“Need something?” asked the waitress.

“No, ma’am,” John said, shifting his gaze toward the door.

She followed his eyes. “Got any plans?”

“I’m going to the theater,” he answered, grabbing the bill and pulling out his wallet.

He threw cash on the table and headed outside. He kept his head down and walked across the street.

There was a crush of people pushing their way in. The crowd was hoping to get a glimpse of the honored guest. They didn’t realize that they would be witnesses to history.

John slid his way through the crowd and made it into the lobby. He handed over his ticket and bounded up the stairs.

The second floor outside the balcony was oddly empty. John paused to take in a gallery of paintings. His heart jumped when he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Can you believe all these people for a play?” the stranger chuckled. “I’m only here because my wife dragged me… Sorry, I should introduce myself. My name is Louis Smith. What’s yours?”

“John Wilkes Booth,” he said with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

So, what do you think? Is there a clear winner this week? Use the comment section below or send an email torcdavis3rd@gmail.com to enter your vote for this week's Three Blind Muse winner. We'll announce the winner next week. 

The three words for next week's contest are:


Binge Gossip Hamburger

Sweetness!

We'll be putting our stories together here at Ashford Living. 
And if you want to be a guest writer, send your story to me, rcdavis3rd@gmail.com
Remember to follow the rules. If you do, we'd be more than happy to have you in the show!

Three Blind Muse: Slippery Coronation Coat

Its everyone's favorite time of the week; the moment you've all been waiting for: Three Blind Muse. This week we did, as the title suggests, Slippery Coronation Coat. Three Excellent Choices.

But before we go ahead, we need to tally the scores from last week: With two votes for Lumberjack Slam and two votes for Minding My Business, we have a dead heat. Or as the sporting folks say: Two losers!

Now, you could take this outcome, and many may still, and decide that each story was of equal value to the other. That would mean a tie would be declared, everyone would hug, hand out trophies, have a banquet, distribute participation ribbons, and the story would end happily ever after. That's socialist crap, I tell you. Only California ninnies, soccer moms and pinko commies would accept that as a plausible outcome. I'm from New England, the land of long winters, witch hangings, and a certain swap game played at Christmas aimed to snatch toys from the hands of happy children, reminding everyone that life isn't fair, no matter how much you cry about it.

So, I declare the winner to be Lumberjack Slam by Christina Davis. That's right--I know which side my bread is buttered on. Hard, yes. Stubborn, yes. Stupid? No Way.

With that settled, here's this week's entries:

Blizzard 2016

“Put your coat back on”

“But I’m a princess, Daddy”, three year old Anne rebutted. It did say ‘Princess’ on her pink snowsuit.

“A princess? I don’t remember the coronation”. I started putting her arms in the sleeves.

“What’s a crononation?” Anne screwed up her face.

“It’s a big party to celebrate the princess”

“With Cake?” She smiled at me

“With Cake”

“And Pizza?”

“And Pizza” I slid the door open. Anne grabbed the hand rail with both gloved hands and made her way down the steps, sideways. She looked like a pink marshmallow.

“When will I have my crononation?” The tiny furrowed brow of deep thought.

“Walk slowly, Ann. It gets very slippery when it snows” I followed her across the patio and held her hand as we walked toward the driveway. “Are you ready to go sledding?”

“Can we have it tonight? I want to wear my princess dress and have a crononation!” all the time looking up at me and smiling.

“Absolutely!” How could I say no to that face?

“With Cake?”

“With Cake”

“And Pizza?”

“And Pizza” Smiling eyes and rosy cheeks. I set her in her pink plastic saucer. “Hold on tight, your majesty!”

The Characters' Court

WAPNER: Ms. Hearts, what’s your beef with the defendant?

QUEEN: I’d ask that you refer to me as the QUEEN.

WAPNER: This is my courtroom and I make the rules. I’ll refer to you as Ms. Hearts.

QUEEN: Very well. This slippery little trollop stole my mink coat. The nerve!

ALICE: Your honor, I never stole anything. All I ever wanted was to get home. I fell down this rabbit hole and then there was this tea party… It’s too complicated. The real question is, Who died and made her queen?

                                                                                                          
QUEEN: My coronation was a stately affair celebrated by all the cards. How dare a lowly human girl like you question my authority?

WAPNER: Calm down. Ms. Hearts, when was the last time you had the coat?

QUEEN: I had it at the crochet game where this miserable wench showed up uninvited. Off with her head!

WAPNER: Do you have any evidence that the coat was stolen?

QUEEN: Why would I need evidence? She stole my coat!

WAPNER: Well, Alice, this is your lucky day. With no evidence, I find you not guilty. Just do me a favor -- stay away from rabbit holes.

So, what do you think? Is there a clear winner this week? Use the comment section below or send an email to rcdavis3rd@gmail.com to enter your vote for this week's Three Blind Muse winner. We'll announce the winner next week.

The three words for next week's contest are:


Gallery Spoon Smile

Yeah!--Nice random words.

We'll be putting our stories together here at Ashford Living.
And if you want to be a guest writer, send your story to me, rcdavis3rd@gmail.com
Remember to follow the rules. If you do, we'd be more than happy to have you in the show!

Three Blind Muse: Blond Sausage Chandelier

Well, its the time of week you've all been waiting for: Three Blind Muse. This week we did, as the title suggests, Blond Sausage Chandelier. Amazing triplet indeed.

But before we go ahead, we need to tally the scores from last week.


After hours and hours of counting (and some debate over a hanging chad), a winner has been declared. By a vote of 1 - 0, Last week's winner was Precious Cargo by Christina H. Davis. Great story.

Thanks, single reader. The rest of you should be ashamed. Consuming content without paying, either with money or feedback. You're worse then 95% of NPR listeners (it's OK, I'm a supporting member now). Don't you know that they need money to run the radio, and Robert Siegel needs to be fed not once, not twice, but three times a day. And don't you know that every vote you cast in Three Blind Muse inflates our already swollen egos. We need this external affirmation of our literary worth. Not to mention the influence this has on the interpersonal nuances of our marriage. This is a contest, and with all contests that arise in a marriage, it's a constant moral struggle for superiority. We need you to chime in and help us decide once and for all which one of us is right.

Can you do that for us?

Lumberjack Slam

Jonathan awoke to see the Swarovski crystal chandelier hanging over his head in the foyer of his Beverly Hills mansion.

How much had that chandelier cost? he wondered. Before he could answer that question, he became aware of the pain in his lower back that was likely from the fact that he had slept on the tile floor.

What time is it?

He reached for his iPhone. Before he found it, his hand grazed something squishy. He sat up in disgust and looked over to find a half-cooked sausage link.

What the?

He glanced over to the left and saw the lone sausage’s mate as well as a pancake. Pieces of egg white appeared to be on his bare foot while smeared yoke was streaked across the floor.

As Jonathan ran a confused hand through his blonde curls he heard the light patter of feet coming down the carpeted stairs.

“There you are!” a woman’s voice gasped. “You said you were hungry and then you never came back. I was worried something had happened to you!”

Something had happened to Jonathan, of course. Exactly what hadn’t become clear – yet.

Minding My Business

“It’s a Blond Ale.”

“A what?”

“A Blond Ale.” This guy’s slow. Go away.

“What’s Blond Ale?”

“It’s a light colored beer.” I’m really just trying to eat my dinner. Shouldn’t have sat at the bar. Shouldn’t have come to the hotel bar for dinner. Shouldn’t have come to this convention. Omaha.

“Why don’t they just say Light Beer?”

“I don’t know.” Why don’t they call a sausage a meat tube? Go vomit your words at the table of inebriated suits under the gaudy lobby chandelier. I’m sure they have interesting business stories to tell about exotic convention locations and ladies they procured on the company card and Johnson’s resulting herpes. ROI, STD, Blah, Blah, Blah.

“Do you work in the food industry?”

“Yes, sausage company in Plattsmouth”. You’ve never even heard of us, so don’t ask.

“What’s the name?”

“Casing Foods. We brand name and wholesale.” How many sausage factories are there in Plattsmouth?

“I’m in Grains. Bulk for processing”

“Sounds nice” Just shut up and go away. My food is getting cold.

“Anyway, I have to meet my little “light beer” haired date out front. Going to see a show.”

“Have fun.” I hope you get an STD. 

So, what do you think? Is there a clear winner this week? Use the comment section below or send an email to rcdavis3rd@gmail.com to enter your vote for this week's Three Blind Muse winner. We'll announce the winner next week.

 

The three words for next week's contest are:


Slippery Coronation Coat


Easy Peasy Lemon Squeazy.



We'll be putting our stories together here at Ashford Living.
And if you want to be a guest writer, send your story to me, rcdavis3rd@gmail.com
Remember to follow the rules. If you do, we'd be more than happy to have you in the show!

Three Blind Muse: Seat Digging Christmas

This is the first installment of the Ashford Living Three Blind Muse series of short stories. Before we begin, here's a recap of the rules:


1. The story must include the three words
2. The theme must be taken from the three words
3. The story can be no longer than 200 words
4. The stories will be published once per week



The three words for this week, as the title suggests, were:


Seat, Digging, Christmas


So, without further ado, Story #1:

A Time for Reflection

Tom Billings thought of all the different seats he had sat in throughout his life: large fluffy ones in fancy hotels; small, plastic squat ones in his kindergarten classroom; spare, springy, modernist ones in the numerous offices he had worked; the chair in front of his TV that absorbed him when he returned home from a long day at work; the seats on the bus he took from the last T stop to his office; the chairs at his kitchen table that were so uncomfortable that they never ate there. He had no idea what his wife had liked about them.

Then there was the metal chair he had in his trunk, rescued from the dump for repair and use in his workshop. The same chair that police had found next to the hole he was digging to hide Dan Chant’s body before Tom got tired and just threw it in the river. The same Chair left in haste with blood still on the seat after a Christmas Eve fight with his wife lead Tom to actively end her suspected affair with Dan Chant.

Then Tom looked at the last seat he’d ever take. More straps that he had expected.

And here's the second entry for the week:

Precious Cargo

“This is a fine way to spend Christmas,” said Leroy, taking a seat on the ground next to Mark. He tossed the rusty shovel to the side of the hole the pair of men had been digging since 1 a.m.

“Do you think Baby Jesus would approve?” asked Mark.

“No, I don't suppose he would,” said Leroy. “But then again, I never gave Baby Jesus much thought.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a flask. He took a quick swig of whiskey and passed it to Mark. Mark drank and shook his head as the liquid burned its way down. With his voice cracking he asked, “How deep do we have to dig this hole?”

Leroy glanced back at the car trunk. He could just make outthe vehicle’s outline by the light of the camping lantern they had positionedat their feet. The car, a tan 2001 Chevy Malibu, looked innocuous enough. Leroy bought it used from his sister-in-law in 2005 and had kept it up fairly well, despite the fact that it had more than 100,000 miles.

Leroy snapped out of his reverie and sprang to his feet. “Quit asking questions and start digging.”

So, what do you think? Is there a clear winner this week? Use the comment section below or send an email to rcdavis3rd@gmail.com to enter your vote for this week's Three Blind Muse winner. We'll announce the winner next week. 

The three words for next week's contest are:


Blond Sausage Chandelier


Quite a challenge.


We'll be putting our stories together here at Ashford Living. 
And if you want to be a guest writer, send your story to me, rcdavis3rd@gmail.com
Remember to follow the rules. If you do, we'd be more than happy to have you in the show!

Three Blind Muse -or- Short Story Glory!

Three blind mice. Three blind mice

The premise is simple: Take three words from a random word generator and write a 200 word story that uses those three words as the driver of theme. Here are the rules:

1. The story must include the three words
2. The theme must be taken from the three words
3. The story can be no longer than 200 words
4. The story will be published once per week

See how they run. See how they run

We'll be publishing the stories weekly on Saturdays for you to review. I said stories, because Christina and I will each be writing a separate tale (!) and posting them for your evaluation. They'll be posted without our names, so the playing field will be even.

They all ran after the farmer's wife,Who cut off their tails with a carving knife

We're looking for your feedback, and need your participation to make it work. Let us know which story is the better and we'll publish the results the following week with the new stories and the three word set for the following week. It's up to you to tell us who the better writer is.

Did you ever see such a sight in your life, As three blind mice


Check back in with us on Saturday. This week's triplet is:

Seat Digging Christmas


Want to be a guest writer? Send your story to me, rcdavis3rd@gmail.com
Remember to follow the rules. If you do, we'd be more than happy to have you in the show!