When Asked In A Prompt What would I do if I won €100?#Goodworks

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Thank you Tenor

It is not a question I ponder often. Winning prizes is rarely achieved by me. I have won three ‘competitions’ in my 64 years, at least, that weren’t for writing. I enter things like flash fiction, poetry and writing competitions, but that is work and as it should be. This time, the answer was a no brainer, a Fait Accompli as it were.

For when I win, (one has to think positive) I will scream and shout, wave my knickers in the air and whoop, as I simultaneously danced around the floor.

Thank you Tenor

Of course, it goes without saying, … the knickers would be unworn, probably new ones, my special occasion knickers. I would never remove mine, mainly because the jumping and twirling may show the parts that nobody’s eyes should meet.

I would call my daughter. She and some wonderful friends give up their own Christmas morning. As they prepare, and cook from scratch fresh food, providing all manner of traditional fare, including a sumptuous dessert. They give serviettes, baubles and a few sweets as well as cheese and biscuits. They deliver them hot to their homes. They wrap colouring books and pencils, crackers, baubles and a few treats. It is a piece of Christmas that they otherwise would not have. They feed families facing hardship from the three Schools (about 60 people at last count get fed) to give them each a memorable Christmas. One that many have never had.

The money is gathered from fundraisers at the three schools and people who try to give a little. They sell things, make things, and care. But it always depends on how much they raise as to how many they can feed. Also, she pursuades the director for use of a school kitchen and some monies towards it all.

Mostly it is her and her team of people with big hearts that pull this off. They plan, shop and gather the information long before the day. I am proud of my daughter’s ingenuity, haggling skills and sheer determination that she has for feeding them all. She is a constantly busy lady, as the director of school improvement, overseeing three schools and head of a large school herself. I don’t know how she pulls it together. Her time is precious and rarely spare. This cause is where I would gift the prize, if or when I win. One hundred dollars will feed a few more. I would like to wipe the shadow from my daughters eyes, that would be something. The shaddow that comes when she has no more to give. After all, neither mouths nor tummies should be empty any day, but especially not at Christmas.

Thank you Tenor.

What would you do if you won? Answers in the comments please. … Or press the red link at the top to join in or write ✍ a post.

Time never holds its breath

When you can’t catch yours.

The sun doesn’t forget to rise,

from behind closed doors.

Strength appears from nowhere,

It slips beneath a storm filled cloud.

Allowing us to breathe in its beauty,

To hear nature sigh out loud.

Our world continues turning,

Despite sadness in our eyes.

Or the sound of the earth failing,

The throbbing beat of babies cries.

Our Earth begins to rumble,

Beneath the dying sea-floor.

For the Wildlife, there is no saving,

Sea-creatures will be no more.

Only the cries of number 52

As he sings his lonely song.

No partner tuned in to hear him

His opportunities long gone

Too late, we see the destruction,

Earth destroyed by human greed

It will be with enormous sadness

As floods drown out the last seed.

To hear the facts of no.52 press here

To extend the life of Earth as we know it we must work now. Simply turning the thermostat down 2°, not putting heating on until the evening, wear a sweater if you are cold, think twice before turning on air conditioning, shopping once a month instead of weekly. Use public transport or share space in your car, walk or bike where possible, recycle ♻️, home cook, grow your own,  eat what you need not what you want. These are a few small changes that will help our planet prolong its life. Which do you do? Leave a comment I would ❤ to know. 

Every day I become more fearful for our world if only each of us took it upon ourselves to change one thing … we could prevent my words from coming true.

” What could or do you do to help?” Leave me your thoughts, I love to chat. 😇

Our lonely planet Is left with the worlds Lonliest Whale, singing forlornly in the incorrect Hertz

We will remember Them All With The Poppies we lay.

Through the window she watches, on the seat she waits.

To show her respects as they pass the cottage gates.


Through the window once, not so long ago,

Dogs were waiting, but their masters didn’t show.


Countless widows and orphans, all waited in vain,


To hear a loved one, again, call out their name.

Never forget, the broken, or the sacrifices that are made


By our forces each day, as the poppies are laid.

Auschwitz 1.

Arbeit macht frei” (work set’s you free)

Beneath a winters sun a biting wind blew,

Where nobody saw and nobody knew.

With tears in the eyes of our guide

Shock on our faces no-where to hide.

I couldn’t remove her words from my ear

The ones no decent human wants to hear.

Watching through a fog knowing the reality

It slid beneath flesh and warped earth’s polarity.

Ramming evil home, planting it deep

like marrow into the bone.

Escape was not made for here,

corrections happened and slaughter… its clear.

They walked towards death one by one,

Without the fear of what was to come.

When water became gas, to help them cope,

they sang the Hatikvah, their song of hope.

I see piles of hair when I try to sleep,

the discarded shoes torn from innocents feet.

I see their faces before me as I softly weep,

Brush crematoria soot from a tear stained cheek.

This place bore witness to pure evil that time,

it can not be erased from the depths of my mind.

At the shooting wall I picture them standing that day,

Singing hopeful prayers they refused to face away.

The Nazi machine, its power so strong,

kept the furnaces burning all night long.

Hundreds were cremated day after day,

Not fast enough to clear the piles of decay.

First their status then their pride

Ripped them apart nowhere to hide.

For all the souls that gather there,

Their fortitude, their pain and despair.

I beseech you all, to stand and see

the shooting wall… just like me.

The rose was placed on one of the beds that held six bodies in the barracks of Auschwitz one. Poignantly positioned, by someone paying respects on March the second 2017.

In light of new trials of two Nazi guards (one male one female) beginning imminently and national poetry day I repost this poem.

A piece of me shifted that day, my eyes clouded and my heart cried. I thought long and hard before posting this and though I hope you leave me a comment I will understand if you don’t.

The Mystery Of The Night Bus

Stella had stopped on the corner of a crossroads, her phone pressed into her cheek. “I can find my own way, no, I don’t need help, I just wanted someone else to know where I was, you know, precautions and all. Honest, just covering my back, being responsible, a cautious daughter. I will, I will, yes, I’ll send a text once I get back. Yeah, love you too, bye Mum.”

She felt her mascara run as the light rain made her eyes water. > It’s good that it’s too dark for anyone to see me. What a state I must look, < She thought as she rubbed at her eyes with a screwed up piece of used tissue found in the pocket of her pale pink faux fur jacket. A half-laugh left her as she stuffed her phone in her silver clutch bag and click-clacked her way to a bus shelter she could see illuminated by one flickering bulb in the distance. At least she would be dry. Even she knew, standing on a street corner dressed in pink fluff and sequins at way past midnight was not the most sensible thing to be doing.

Sella had a smashing night, dancing at the club. It was great just her and her bestie, gyrating and giggling like when they were kids at the school disco. Until her fellah came. Jenny twitched and became shy, almost childlike. “Stell, this is my Gavin.” Stella frowned, stuttered, then had to shout to be heard over the music. “Jen, I thought it was just us. I am crashing with you in your bedsit. At least that was the plan?” Stella loved planning and needed to know what she would be doing next. When and how was the minimum, the basic stuff. “Gav missed me.” She said, lifting her arms as if doing some sun salutation or worshipping a sky-bound deity. Jen was promptly gathered up for a session of face sucking, right there on the dance floor. Stella was mad. A studio pad was not a place she wanted to be. Not if the demonstration in front of her was a prelude to the main event. So Stella left the club. That was how she ended up on a wet night in town, in the early hours of the morning, alone. … Dressed like a Christmas tree.

Stella tried to read the timetable, it was not helped by the flickering light. It seemed there was a bus. The night bus, but it gave no destination or times. She shivered as she tugged off her jacket and shook some of the rain from the fur, then pulled it back on. Fastening it firmly around her against the wind. A taxi passed with its light off > probably finished for the night she thought < All she could do is sit and wait for the night bus and take it from there.

A rowdy bunch, of mostly blokes, poured out of a building. They were staggering, jeering, pushing and shoving each other. Some stumbled into the road and were getting closer. “Ello darling on yer lonesome then.” A wolf whistle and shouts got louder the closer they came. “cor, I could, yeah, c’mon shows us what you’re selling.” shouted another. Stella pretended to call the police and spoke loudly down the mouthpiece. “Yes, a bunch of louts officer come right away!” A bloke at the back of the group shoved them along. He nervously checked behind as they passed. Soon they were out of sight, but she could still hear them in the distance. Usually, Stella was confident and strong. That night, she was decidedly uncomfortable and felt vulnerable. Tugging her skirt down, Stella pressed her bum into the rickety wooden bench. She twitched at each sound. The passing street cat startled her everything felt like a threat. The hiss of air from the buses brakes made her jump only then did she realise the night bus had arrived.

Stella hadn’t heard or seen it coming. Cautiously she approached the doors they unfolded with a whoosh. “Hello, can you tell me where you’re going, where you stop, please?” She put one sparkly foot inside the bus. looked up and down the aisle. “This is my last stop tonight, but as you can see, she’s empty. Where are you wanting to go?” Tom, was written on his name badge, had friendly eyes and a soft voice. “I um, … Stapleton, about six miles from here.” She flinched as her teeth nipped the inside of her lip. “No problem, I know it well, Stapleton it is. Make yourself comfortable I will have you home in no time.” She fumbled in her bag for her season ticket, swiped it on the pad and took a seat.

Now, if you were to meet Stella today, she would tell you, there seemed all but a minute between the whooshing of air as the doors closed to leave that bus stop and the hissing of brakes as he stopped and called, ” last stop, please disembark.” His bus pulled up right outside her door. Though she never told him where she lived. Stella would say that when she inquired, the council told her, the night bus was a pilot project supposedly run by volunteers in the 1970s. After only a month, it folded. The scheme was never funded and didn’t catch on. She would tell you that in the library archives, after investigating, she found that the bus shelter had long been taken down and replaced with a bus stop sign more than a decade past.

The above vignette is in response to Esme’s monthly picture prompt #3, the link to join in or read other responses is in the link under the picture of the bus. I hope you enjoy reading them. Have you ever travelled alone and been scared or uncomfortable please let me know, leave a comment in the box I love to chat?”

Put Out To Grass.

The crop snapped his flank,

the pop spurred him on,

His acclaimed turn-of-foot

would deliver his swansong.

A snort a twitch

The winning post Past

At the final stroke

This race would be his last.

Put out to grass

Racing finished

Time to shine gone

No friends to race

Or bowls of mash

No roar of the crowd or

heads to clash.

In this meadow

Grinding grass all day,

does he swat memories like flies away.

does he miss the cheers

Strings of horses nose to tail

Or is he happy to watch the red Kite sail.

This was for Charli Mills 99 word flash fiction prompt press https://carrotranch.com/2021/09/17/september-16-flash-fiction-challenge-2/ to join in or simply read all the responses.

Baking Her Way To Fame

By pixels

After watching The Great British Bake-Off, Sarah decides to self-tape her efforts to launch a cooking show. The next Nigella, she mused Mary Berry of East Anglia. She planned and tried recipes for days hoping to perfect a bake that would stun and make her go viral on Instagram or Tick-tock. Eventually, Sarah settled on simplicity after all, just how hard can a limoncello cream stuffed choux balls wedding cake, a Croquembouche be.

A new apron couldn’t disguise the abject failure of her bake. She now is a star on tick-tock as ‘The Comedy Baker.”

This was written for Charlie’s 99 word prompt press the 》Link here 《 to join in or read.

Cigarette Smoke and Bad Memories

To join in or just read -> Prompt here

On the anniversary, she hung her dress at the window. From her mattress, she watched the morning sun catch the turquoise fabric making it shimmer. She studied it through a haze of thick Cigarette Smoke.

The dress was the cleanest thing in there. The dress still bore the stain of his urine. Time had turned the intricate chiffon bodice a dirty shade of chartreuse.

Such a glorious name ruined as she had been ruined. It wasn’t only the prom he spoiled, but herself, her innocence and the only connection to family that she had left, her Grandmother’s beautiful dress.

September 2, 2021, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story to the theme, “not everyone fits a prom dress.” You can take inspiration from Ellis Delaney’s song, the photo, or any spark of imagination. Who doesn’t fit and why? What is the tone? You can set the genre. Go where the prompt leads!

Led more by the picture I hope it sufficed to fit the requirements. Leave a comment please I just love to talk. x

Respond by September 7, 2021