Your prompt this week is
PROMISES
Have you ever made a promise to someone and broken it? It’s not always easy to keep to a promise. Politicians, though, seem to find it very easy to break their promises.
When I was young, I remember making my Brownie promise and then going up to the Guides and doing the same.
It’s also possible to show promise at something – writing, or learning something new, for example.
Another way of looking at the prompt word is as an expectation. For example, the new Hunger Games movie promises to be good.
What does it mean to you?
Fact or fiction, prose or poetry, I would love to read your thoughts on this week’s prompt, but there’s no obligation to share your writing. Here is the work you shared on the last prompt CHARGE.
Imagine our city is under siege
We form a committee how to besiege
Charge on! Charge on! With our stars
Blood, sweat and tears on our memoirs
Until our last breath give each other hand
Charge on and never give up on our land
Each day the sun and the moon rise and set
We should have fun, be happy what we get
Give love! Give love! To everyone
Endure the pain until we’ve won
Perhaps we fight or flight with all our might
Give love and everything will be alright
Charging things is no good unless you plan to pay off the debt quickly. Its why the US is in so much trouble, financially. So many people living beyond their means because they charge big things on their credit cards. So charge to me is a negative thing.
Being in charge, however, could be a good thing. I haven’t been in this position much but now I feel I’m in charge of my own destiny, sort of. God is actually in charge of my destiny, but at least I can be sure of my future!
Some day I will be brave enough to lead the charge and recruit more people into the Army of God. For now, I just try and spread the good news of the gospel to as many people as will listen and hopefully, they will become believers!
“Cash or charge?”
“Cash, please.”
“Do you have an ID?”
“An ID? What do you need an ID for?”
“You said you were paying with cash.”
“Yes that’s correct.”
“We only accept cash with proper ID.”
Last Stand
Blood and drool fell to the sands. The bull’s hot breath rose as bursts of mist. The crowd cheered.
The matador stood, so elegantly dressed—flamboyant, arrogant in his confidence, waving to the onlookers.
The bull was tired, but the black globes were watching, locked onto their target.
The matador waved his capote, daring the bull to attack again. The cape flapped and whipped in the hot breeze.
The bull huffed and champed, pawing at the ground. The banderillas hung loosely from its flesh. Slowly it backed up, lowering its horns.
The matador prepped his stance and secured the espada, ready to deal the final blow, finally ending the tired beast’s life.
The sun was high, the noise from the stands was rising, almost deafening. The bull began its run—onward like a runaway train, direct, deadly.
The matador smiled, adjusting his posture.
The bull loomed close. Its hooves drummed the hot ground, its body was tense… it faltered. Just for a few seconds. Just long enough for the matador to forget his guard. He turned and waved to the crowd.
The stands erupted—but not in celebration this time. A wave of alarm rose up. The matador turned back. The bull had not fallen. He’d been tricked.
The bull was now back on its feet and thundering towards him. He resumed his stance. He’d been rushed. The matador wrapped his own leg with the capote, then struggled to free himself. The man yelped as he realised it was too late. He turned to run.
The bull connected and sent the matador flying heel over head. The sword he’d been wielding had been dropped. Slowly the bull padded closer and closer to the tangled, winded, and disorientated matador.
Just as the bull began to stamp its front hooves and snort, several men burst through the gates two dozen feet from the matador. They all had spears and cattle prods. They closed in on the bull, spreading into a V-shape.
The bull snorted again, the disgust clear. Suddenly it exploded, pushing its hooves into the sand, and with every ounce of strength it had left, galloped through the centre of the incoming group of murderers. It clattered through them like a bowling ball against pins. One man screeched, another made a “urrmmmpph” sound and went unconscious, and the others only watched on as the bull lurched, shambling out of the arena and down the Spanish street.
First thing that came to mind was charges to an account.
We had an instance where one of the larger supermarkets duplicated a charge of £13.70, and even though we only had one receipt, the store told us we would have to take it up with our bank as it was a ‘phantom’ charge.
Getting the money refunded was a twelve week process, though the bank credited our account and took it up with the supermarket for reimbursement, so technically we weren’t out of pocket.
The tease was offered without charge.
Addiction would come later.
So, if you’re tempted, better say
this will cost more some other day
when total cost is greater.
The Big Boss
She was the boss now and she was very proud of it. It had taken hard work, long years and most of all proving that she could be as tough, clever and sometimes ruthless as any of her male colleagues.
She wanted to roar with laughter, do a little victory dance, but instead she just nodded, accepted the board’s decision to make her the chairwoman and then concentrated on the rest of the agenda.
Later that evening she was finally alone. In the elevator on her way down to the underground car park of her office she beamed at her reflection in the mirror, tired but still overwhelmed with joy: “I am in charge now! Nobody tells me anymore what to do and when to do …”
She could not finish her sentence, because her mobile phone started beeping with alerts. She immediately started checking her missed calls and messages.
Yes, no one would be controlling her from now on, except for her very relentless “smart” phone.
Barry’s in Charge
Barry said he’s in charge
Don’t argue he is quite large
just do what he said
and bow your head
Remember we’re calling him Sarge.
The Not-So Hairy Biker
There once was a waiter named Farage,
Who served leather-clad bikers but overcharged
He’d pour and he’d smile
But the men got hostile
And with a swift bop his nose got enlarged
–
So then old Farage, with embarrassment grand,
Had to do something quick and unplanned,
He thought to become Prime Minister,
But that was far too sinister,
So he plumped for standing on his hands
–
But with his proboscis impressively wide,
The blood poured out into his eyes,
They looked hard but not a grin,
So he plied them with gin,
And then found a good place to hide!
Getting Charged Up
When we first bought an electric car in 2022, I installed an EV charger in our garage so I could charge the car at home. I contacted the local electric company to find out when its off-prime (lower rate) hours started. They said off-peak hours started at 9:00 pm. So every night before I went to bed I checked the charge left on my car and if it was 30% or less, I would diligently plug the charger into my car and charge it up to 80%.
Why only 80% and not 100%? An excellent question. So glad you asked. Electric car manufacturers generally recommend charging to only 80% rather than 100% because it preserves battery health and efficiency, and saves time during charging sessions. The car can be charged to 100% on occasions where you need to drive more miles than an 80% charge would support, but then it should be set back to limit charging to 80% for ordinary use.
Anyway, last year my electric company notified me that off-peak hours were changing. Instead of starting at 9 pm, they would be starting at midnight.
Okay, time for a behavior change. Fortunately I don’t have to stay up until midnight to plug the charger into my car. It has a scheduler, so I can plug my charger in at any time, but I can set the charging to start at midnight. Sort of like scheduling when you want a post to be published on your blog. Problem solved.
I love my electric car — which is not a Tesla, by the way. I haven’t pulled into a gas station in more than three years.
And I get a charge out of that.
When Did We Stop Caring?
are we not tired
of watching the innocent die?
of seeing lives crushed by suffering,
persecuted for nothing but being alive?
of justifying this endless “right” to harm,
when did compassion vanish from our hearts?
when did humanity become so hard?
so distant, so blind, so cold?
innocent souls are fading—
children starving,
mothers mourning,
migrant hands broken by injustice.
and in the corners of my world,
our cities drown,
tears flood the streets
while corrupt men in power laugh,
their pockets growing fat on our pain.
greed roams free,
no shame, no remorse,
and for what?
for the weight of gold?
for more and more
at the cost of everything—
what must we do
to hold them accountable?
to charge them with every death,
every tear,
every lost future?
In Charge
Fifteen year old Elsie slouched on the couch. She was baby-sitting on a Friday night, as usual. Her little charge had his arms crossed and was glaring at her.
“You’re not the boss of me!” Eli declared, all of his three year old strength coiled in his biceps, ready to fight. How did he get so good at scowling, she wondered.
“You have to eat,” Elsie reasoned, “or you’ll get weak.”
“I’ll never get weak. You’re weak,” he countered.
“Yes, I am weak. C’mon, Eli, lets sit at the table and eat. I’m starving,” she pleaded.
Eli laughed. “I never eat. I don’t have to eat. I’m invincible!” Elsie wondered where on earth he had heard the word ‘invincible.’
“Okay, then what do you want to do?” she asked, trying to keep resignation out of her voice.
“I want to play basketball!” he cried, raising his arms up like he was throwing one.
“What else is new? Okaaay, okay. Basketball. After you eat one slice of pizza.”
“No, I want basketball!” he shouted.
“You have to eat one slice of pizza. And then you can play basketball and have a fruit snack before bed,” she could tell this wasn’t enough, so she added, “and we will watch two – no, three episodes of “Shawn the Sheep.” Eli’s eyes lit up. She had him.
“Okay!!” he cried and began to run in circles. Now, if she could just get him to the table. They don’t pay me enough for this, she thought.
When I first started getting some crystals, and gemstones, and rocks. I was told they should be re-charged once in awhile. You do this by setting them out at night in the moonlight, or in the sunlight during the day, or cleansing with running water, or even by the smoke of incense or sage. Then their full charge will be restored, and would be able to do what they do according to what purposes they are for.
I think I might have done this once, but I just like having them because they are pretty. I didn’t get all into what benefits they are used to help with.
Recharging
My daughter came to visit me
with Flo and Eddie, six and three,
and solar lights to light my tree
plugged into panels underneath.
Reluctantly, I had to say,
“I have no energy today.
It’s drained by pain from dodgy knees.
I must recharge my batteries.”
She climbed the ladder. I made tea
while she draped lights around the tree
and Flo brought in their solar feed.
“Here, Nanna. This is what you need.”
Why is it I find being in loco parentis such a responsibility, worrying even more when it’s somebody else’s charges I’m looking after.
The first time I was left alone with my grandson, then only a few weeks old, I tripped on the stairs and went flying with him in my arms. Thank the lord it was only the last step ( I’d tipped on the bottom bar of the stair gate ) and neither of us were hurt. I lay there screaming ‘My baby, My baby!’, and of course baby was screaming too. I somehow managed to get us both up off the floor, and into the lounge where I could call for help. Hubby had been meaning to catch me up later; as soon as he arrived I yelled ‘ Take him, take him!’ so I could collapse on the sofa.
Mum and dad had to be summoned back from their party, and thankfully all was well.
The innocent victim in this unfortunate saga is now ten years old; I have told him the tale of how we fell down the stairs, lucky for him he has no memory, it’s me that has the nightmares!
And as for dogs, we nearly lost my son’s black lab to the sea on a trip to the beach. Bawling at her to come back, I was on the verge of going in for a rescue , when , to our great relief, she came back of her own accord,
So if anybody’s thinking of using my baby/dog sitting services, don’t say you haven’t been warned!
Electric Charge is not the only type of Fundamental Charge
As you may know, atoms consist of particles. Electrons surround the nucleus of the atom. The nucleus of the atom is in the middle of the atom and it consists of protons and neutrons. Electrons have a negative charge. Protons have a positive charge. Neutrons do not have an electrical charge. Electrons are so called elementary particles. They are not composed of other particles. Protons and Neutrons, on the other hand, are not elementary particles. They are composite particles consisting of quarks, gluons and quark pairs called mesons.
To read the rest of this fascinating insight, click here
The curse of this dawg is to write an georgic
A shimmering piece about something historic
George Orwell left our minds in shambles
The pigs taking charge, taking big gambles
Plenty of people have read books from this man
“Animal Farm” refers to the great High Dollar Hams
I was in my parents kitchen the other day, taking my morning meds.
I put my box of tablets down and they tipped off of my dad’s phone which was charging on the countertop.
It started blinging!
I thought I’d pressed a button or something, so I called for my mom.
But no! The phone was blinging to let us know it was fully charged.
My dad has a phone that is specifically made for the elderly, and apparently one of the features of the phone is to bleep when it is charged.
I think that is a cool feature.
Cady’s Scepter
Mrs. Vincente’s voice was but a distant hum as Cady watched the trees outside the classroom window sway like dancers in slow motion. In her mind, they were performing Swan Lake and she was a beautiful swan for whom all the trees bowed in obeisance.
Oh, it may have looked like she was just sitting at her desk, staring off into space- but in Cady’s imagination, a golden lake had spread out beneath her feet, gleaming under silvery moonlight. She was no longer wearing scuffed sneakers and a wrinkled uniform, but was clothed head to tail in snow-white feathers that shimmered like starlight.
From the far shore, a trumpet blared- a call to arms. A dark knight on a black steed lowered his lance. Cady raised her scepter, and a battalion of armored swans formed behind her, their wings unfurling in perfect unison.
“Charge!” she cried, her voice ringing like a bell across the golden lake. The swans surged forward, slicing through the waves, their wings beating with a force that parted the mist. She leapt into the air, scepter raised high, heart thundering.
And then-
“Cady.” Mrs. Vincente’s voice was sharper now, cutting through the mist. “Would you like to join the class?” A chorus of snickers followed.
Cady blinked, the lake and the knight dissolving into dull walls and flickering fluorescent lights. Her pencil clattered to the desk.
Her cheeks flushed as she retrieved it and bent over her paper, pretending to focus on the equations before her. Even now though, as she gripped what she knew was only a pencil, she could still feel the phantom weight of the scepter that had been in her hand just moments ago.
When I was a young girl, I often took charge at play time, and I was the ringleader of a variety of games at school. My games were always created with the best of intentions but boisterous games involving the entire class had a way of taking on a life of their own.
I clearly recall one game that involved splitting the class into two groups. One group had to hold hands tightly while members of the second group took turns running at the line and trying to force their way through the tightly clasped hands. Naturally, this was great fun, and everyone participated with enormous goodwill. The noise levels climbed along with injuries which didn’t make themselves felt until later when Sister Ruth, teacher of my class and an advocator of ladylike behaviour for girls and gentlemanliness for boys, entered the fray.
The end of break bell had run some minutes before and had gone unnoticed by the excited participants of the game. I’ve never forgotten Sister Ruth’s shout of horror when she rounded the corner of the building and found her class of six-year old’s in a state of near hysterical bedlam. Shoes, socks, and straw boaters lay in untidy piles, sashes were loose, and every child was red and disheveled. At the sound of Sister Ruth’s voice, a deathly silence fell over the gathering. Children quickly moved to put on their shoes and socks. A few, their bruises and bumps suddenly making themselves felt, burst into tears.
I got a dressing down of note and spent the rest of the day on my own in the naughty corner. My report included the phrase: ‘Robbie has the face of an angel, but she has black wings and a rusty halo.’ Naturally, that went down a treat at home.
naughty girl
lacking discipline,
self-control,
and smooth hair
Pollyanna look alike
preferred type of child
***
Esther Chilton 
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