Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion

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Weekly Short Story Contests > Week 68- (February 5th-February 12th) Stories --- Topic: The Shoe Must Go On DONE!

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message 1: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments You have until February 12th to post a short story. On the 13th and 14th, we'll vote for which one we thought was best.

Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don't use a story previously used in this group.

The topic this week is: The Shoe Must Go On

The rules are pretty loose. You could write a story about anything that has to do with the subject. I do not care, but it must relate to the story somehow.

Have fun ye pirates!



I am a LoZ & anime Lover!! (CityofEmber) This is an interesting one...how to write, how to write...


message 3: by Caitlan (new)

Caitlan (lyonessrampant) | 2867 comments ooooh, funnnnnn


message 4: by [deleted user] (new)

haha, the second i heard this i have an ENTIRE story coming to mind... if only i have the time to write it lol


message 5: by Caitlan (new)

Caitlan (lyonessrampant) | 2867 comments Title: The Girl in the Glass Slipper
Author: Kat
WC: 710




The clock struck twelve, and the gong rang through the dead streets. The moonlight illuminated a single figure running down the path, stumbling. She wore a torn dress, and only one glass slipper. She looked behind her, as the palace doors burst open, soldiers swarming through the opening. She slipped into an alley way, clutching her chest, trying to control her breathing, watching the guards run past. She poked her head out of the alley, making sure the guards were gone, and then she ran. She scurried through the winding roads, and down a dirt pathway leading to a large mansion. The lights were all out, because the inhabitants were all at the ball. She shoved the door open, ran upstairs, and collapsed onto her bed, exhausted.

She was woken up the next morning by the sound of a trumpet ringing through the kingdom. She peered out the window, and saw a carriage stopping at the house. As she ran downstairs, her step-mother grabbed her arm very tightly. She forced her into a broom closet, and locked the door. The girl pounded on the door, yelling at the top of her lungs. Finally, she gave up, and slumped down onto the floor, listening to what was going on in the living room.

“Hem, hem.” Someone cleared their throat before unrolling a scroll. “The prince, Prince Erick Riavan Charming, of the Royal Palace, has hereby decreed that every eligible woman in the kingdom must try on this shoe,” he held up a pillow with a glass shoe resting upon it before moving on; “So that he may find his only true love, the woman he danced with last night at his royal ball.”

“Yes, yes, my daughters Griselda and Anastasia, were at the ball, and they danced with the prince.” The step-mother’s voice held a certain cunning, and she called up to her daughters. “GRISELDA, ANASTASIA, THE PRINCE HAS COME TO WED ONE OF YOU!”

The girl in the closet heard her step-sisters rushing down the stairs, pushing one another, trying to see the prince first. The crier raised a finger, and said, “He will only wed one of your daughters if they truly fit into the glass slipper.”

“Yes, yes,” the step-mother waved aside this comment. “They will, I can assure you that.” As her daughters finally made it into the living room, she glared at them, to make sure they behaved. They each sat down on a cushion, and lifted their feet up, staring longingly at the Prince, who stood off to the side, trying to be inconspicuous.

“All right,” the crier said, before kneeling down before Griselda, taking the slipper off of the pillow and tried to insert it onto her foot. He shoved, and the glass shoe slipped over the first couple of toes, then stuck. He pulled it off, and moved on to Anastasia, while Griselda burst into tears. He tried to force it onto Anastasia’s foot, but it barely made it past her big toe. Anastasia kicked to crier off of her leg, and started to shove the shoe on her foot, screaming, “The shoe must go on,” before the Prince rushed over and took it off, cradling it in his arms.

“Well, it seems that the shoe does not fit either of your daughters. Are there anymore women in the house?”

The girl heard the crier say this, and frantically pounded on the door, then turned around when she felt a breeze move her blonde hair; the window was open. She stacked some boxes on top of one another, and scrambled through the window. She dropped to the garden ground, and rushed around to the front door.

“No,” said the step-mother. “There are no more that live here.” Suddenly, the front door burst open, and the girl cried out, “Wait!”

The Prince looked at her, and was instantly mesmerized. He moved slowly towards her, and lead her to a couch. She sat down, and the prince placed the glass slipper on her foot. It fit perfectly, and the prince swept the girl up into his arms.

“I do not have the pleasure of knowing your name,” he said to her.

She stared into his eyes, and said very quietly, “Cinderella. My name is Cinderella.”


message 6: by Rachael (new)

Rachael (rayle504) | 107 comments very nice, Kat!


message 7: by Rachael (new)

Rachael (rayle504) | 107 comments "Karma"
By: Rachael
Wprd Count: 1211

It was a terribly humid day when I met Mrs. Hoephner. The entire southern region of Mississippi was under a Heat Advisory from the National Weather Service. I remember that because it was also my first day of work at Belle’s Shoe Department.

Belle’s was an upscale retail shop that specializes mostly in women’s shoes and accessories. I had been warned that the clientele could be quite temperamental at times but the commission would make up for it. For the first hour or so; I tagged alongside one of the more experienced salesladies taking mental notes of her habitual “suck up” routines. Later, I was put in charge of straightening the store; trash patrol; windows and any other menial task they could throw at me. I continued to keep an eye on our salespeople while I worked. Listening in on their conversations with our patrons. Watching on as they practically said anything just to make a sale.

By lunchtime, I was ready. At least I thought I was. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to encounter with my very first customer.
The store was quiet. Many people we out to lunch or didn’t want to venture out in this heat. Not that I blamed them. I was busy shelving a new shipment of shoes when the bells chimed. The bells were in place to alert us that a customer has just entered the shop. That’s when I first saw her.

Simultaneously I watched Mrs. Hoephner enter the store and listened the a few of the salesladies giggle loudly. She was a fairly large woman; tall and wide. Dressed in what us southerners refer to as “church clothes”; Mrs. Hoephner donned a bright yellow dress with white polka dots and a large, wide brimmed white hat. Wearing a huge smile, she made her way further into the store.

I paused when I noticed her greeting me with her toothy grin and then wondered why there was no one attempting to assist her. Then I heard the low whispers and spread out giggles from our store room. I quickly stopped the shelving, acknowledged our customer; then excused myself to the store room.

“Don’t waste your time, hun,” my Store Manager snorted as she spoke, “The old bag usually doesn’t even make a sale. And if she does, it’s never over twenty bucks. She’s a waste of time.”
I could do nothing but stare at my boss in disbelief. “She’s a person,” I flatly pointed out only to get more chuckles in return. Not wanting to look like I’d abandoned her; I returned in disgust to Mrs. Hoephner whose smile had faded significantly. I wondered if she had heard any of the conversation? Or had she just been used to this kind of treatment? I decided that it didn’t matter. I was not going to treat another person that way no matter what kind of money is involved.

“So is there something in particular you are looking for?” I gave my best customer service smile as I asked. To my surprise Mrs. Hoephner’s facial expression changed immediately back to that carefree smile she had when she first came in, “Yes, I will be needing your assistance if you don’t mind.” We got started. My time with Mrs. Hoephner averaged to about an hour. While my coworkers schmoozed the snooty clientele; I helped my customer pick out three pairs of toddler shoes for her great grandbabies; one pair of sandals for her daughter and one pair of soft white slippers for herself. Nowhere near the commission the other girls were getting; but not laughable for a first sale.

I completed her transaction and thanked her for her patronage. As I handed her the receipt; Mrs. Hoephner shook my hand and asked my name. “Emma,” I replied. “Emma,” she smiled, “It was very nice to meet you. My name is Clarice.” That was the first and last time I saw Mrs. Hoephner.

Twenty minutes before my shift at Belle’s ended on the following day; an elderly man approached me with a small white envelope. Feeling more than a little creeped out I asked, “Can I help you, Sir?” I made a point to use my annoyed tone with him; but it only seemed to startle him. Such guilt now.

“Are you Emma?” Okay now I’m more than a little creepsd out. Who the hell is this guy? How does he know me? Before I could ask all this, he spoke again, “My name is Irvin Hoephner.” I nodded immediately finally understanding the situation. My next thought was ‘is he here to file some kind of complaint?’

“My wife, Clarice,” he paused briefly to swallow, “passed last night. ”Wait…. Mrs. Hoephner died? What? She was just here yesterday… And she was fine. She wasn’t sick. I couldn’t understand it. Was she sick? The questions bumbling around in my head put me in a daze until he spoke again.

“I believe my wife wanted you to have this.” Mr. Hoephner handed me the envelope which had my name and the store’s name written on it. Mr. Hoephner asked if I would mind waiting to open it until after he left. I agreed. In fact, I hadn’t opened it that day. Or the day after.

Instead, I focused on getting my sales up. The latest store motto was “Ladies, the shoe must go on.” Wow… Now I see why my boss is the store manager! Really? Could she be more generic? Basically it was going to serve as a threat to us to get our sales up.

After work, I threw myself across my bed and popped a pillow over my eyes. In the distance I could hear the news reporter announcing some huge donation to our local church which desperately needed repairs. The reporter went on to say that the person who made the donation had died of heart failure two days ago. That’s when I jumped. Mrs. Hoephner? I quickly reached into the bottom of my mattress to find the envelope I had been avoiding.

As I carefully tore into the envelope; I continued to listen to the man on TV as he continued his report. My hands trembled and froze; eyes staring in disbelief. I sat in silence staring down at my lap while the reporter concluded, “Mrs. Hoephner recently claimed a one million dollar Mississippi Lotto cash payout.” Pushing back the stinging tears trying to form; I focused my eyes on the banded stack of cash sitting in my lap. Trying to comprehend it. I did nothing else the rest of the night.

Mrs. Hoephner left me five thousand dollars. I still can’t comprehend that. Why? Because I treated her like a person? Why me? Why not some kid at a burger joint? I have grown to accept the fact that I’ll never know. I spoke to Mr. Hoephner about this. He claims to have no knowledge of this at all.

I decided that the shoe store was just not for me. I quit the day after I opened Mrs. Hoephner’s envelope. I started college that fall. Mrs. Hoephner had a hand in that. That way I will always remember what she did for me when I look at my degree.


message 8: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments Title: Michael Redmonds
Words: 698

Annie looked at the scene before her with a frown. She sat at her desk, her chin resting on the palms of her hands. A single shoe lay in front of her, in a plastic bag. It was bathed in blood.

Earlier, a very old woman reported the shoe in an ally. Detective Annie sighed. That particular ally was well known for the crimes that took place there, murder being the most common among them. This shoe was something of a mystery and completely unhelpful. It bore the DNA of one, Michael Redmonds, but it didn’t hold anything that would help identify the killer. Attacker, she corrected herself. They had no idea if the victim was alive or not.

Annie, accompanied by four other police officers, had visited a few of the gangs in the area but they all, as usual, claimed to have been in different areas August 5th at eleven-two pm, the estimated time of the murder or kidnapping. It was a loose estimate though; without the body or any witnesses, they had to rely on the blood’s age. Annie hadn’t been impressed with this method.

She mostly relied upon the picture of Redmonds, but the gangs still all denied having ever seen him. Their denial didn’t impress her though; she didn’t trust them. They had denied involvement with too many crimes for her to dismiss them. She checked the time on her watch and sighed again. It was five o’clock pm. She’d made no progress with her case today and it was time to go home. Discouraged, she picked up the bagged shoe and walked out the police station’s front door.

It was a warm night. The breeze flew through her hair, sending chills down her neck. She pulled her trench coat tight around her. It didn’t take much to make her cold. She buttoned her coat and continued at a somewhat faster pace.

As she passed the ally where Michael Redmonds had been either killed or kidnapped, she slowed and stood at the entrance. Wearing her black-heeled boots, she took a few steps into the ally. The dumpster beside her stunk like something had died in there. She recalled that all dumpsters smelt that way though and dismissed the smell.

Small pools of water dotted the dirt concrete. The once-red bricks on the buildings were now a dingy brown. And trash littered the ally, as if nothing had happened two days ago.

Annie took a deep breath and began to exit the ally, a frown still planted upon her face. But, as she turned, she stopped. The dumpster lid was partially open. She berated her freaky characteristic of having to close doors and pushed the lid down. Something was between the lid and the dumpster though, so Annie opened the lid, ready to push whatever it was out of the way.

She dropped the lid and stepped back, barely holding her scream in. Annie cast several glances around her then opened the dumpster again. She was horrified by what she saw. There was a pale foot by the lid. She cringed as she realized that its toes had been the objects keeping the lid from closing. Annie took a wood box by the dumpster and used it as a stepping stool. She put plastic gloves from the station out of her pocket and slipped them onto her hands.

As she looked into the dumpster, she recognized the face of one, Michael Redmonds. But just to be sure, she took the shoe out of the bag and placed it on the pale foot. It went on with some difficulty, and it would have been easier if she hadn’t been in constant worry of the foot falling into the trash. At one horrible moment, she questioned whether or not the shoe was actually his. She shook her head though; the shoe must go on. She looked at the now covered foot. This didn’t makes sense they had checked the dumpster for Redmonds yesterday, the time the bloody shoe had been reported.

Annie took the gloves off, pulled a cell phone out of her pocket, and dialed the police station’s number.

“Found the body. Michael Redmonds’ dead.”


message 9: by Rachael (new)

Rachael (rayle504) | 107 comments awesome story! weird, i was tinkering with that idea yesterday b4 i wrote the one i have now...lol


message 10: by Caitlan (new)

Caitlan (lyonessrampant) | 2867 comments creepy


message 11: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments Haha


message 12: by [deleted user] (last edited Feb 09, 2011 10:10PM) (new)

The Shoes. I mean, THE Shoes.
By Averi Dawn
Word count: 873
Once again, I hate it.... but it's all I can think of, and I've been pondering all week.

Phoebe shrieked. Her girls – Teresa, Shelby, and Alexandra – turned at the sound of her scream, wondering what was wrong. Then, they saw them. They were practically indescribable. They were mostly red and black leather heels, with black and silver studs across the toe and heel. The important part was the tassels sticking up in a Indian-headdress type way beside the ankle and down the heel.

“O. M. G!!!!!!” Phoebe ran to the window display, her finger tips touching the glass protecting The Shoes. Teresa, Shelby, and Alexandra exchanged looks. Alexandra, being the lonelier one of the quad, slipped away from the group and into the shop, alone. The two others followed after Phoebe’s steps, placed their finger tips on the glass, drooling across the floor mentally. Alexandra swayed across and past the window, on the inside, and paused to look at their faces. She scoffed. Amateurs… She walked up to the salesman, a tall, dark man, with short, well-gelled hair, and dressed in a Armani suit, perfectly tailored to his well shaped body. She grinned at him, her dark brown eyes running up and down the length of his fit body. With one eyebrow raise in his direction, he grinned at her and walked up.

“Hello, Dahling. You look like you want something you know you need. Let me help.” He pranced up to her, in his flamboyant way, hips swinging in exaggeration, and gesturing wildly to her. She rolled her eyes mentally. Gay, once again. Why does a guy with good fashion ALWAYS have to be gay? She kept her grin on her face and batted her eyes at him. No romantic response from him. She dropped the flirting and motioned in the direction of the window.

“I’d like a pair of the Prada shoes…” she reached up and tilted his name card to her. “…Terrance.” He raised his well groomed eyebrows at her, and turned on his heel, bouncing away. She stood there perplexed, momentarily. He flipped his head over his shoulder.

“Well, Come hon, Dahling!” He gestured with a weak wrist to follow him. She complied as she swayed her way past the first couch, where there was another older woman getting her shoes fitted. Egh, old woman shoes, she thought. She returned her attention to Terrance, who montioned for her to sit in the giant, comfy couches. He held a box with PRADA printed on the side of it. “Now, Dahling, this is our last pair. These babies sell like hotcakes. Better snatch them before someone else sees them.” He kneeled on the ground, and removed Alexandra’s grey suede bootie from her left foor, and gingerly opened the box, removing the Prada shoes as if they were new born babies. In a way, I guess they are, she thought. He gingerly placed it on her foot, and she squeezed her toes together to fit in the shoe. She swore mentally, knowing her size 9 feet would not fit in the size 7 shoes. She pushed him away, and stood up, pounding her left foot on the floor to try and get it on. It hurt, hurt so bad. She swore aloud, not wanting this to happen. Just once, God, just once, she pleaded. She bounced up and down, whilst Terrance was freaking out trying to grab the shoe off her foot. She landed on her heel squarely and it fell into the shoe. She sighed heavily out of relief. Then she looked at Terrace, who was staring at her foot, repulsed and scared. Following his gaze, she saw her foot incased in the gorgeous pair of shoes. She had been ignoring the pain, but as she felt it dissipate completely and her ankle and foot go numb, she knew she was in trouble. She swore once again, pleading with the God of Fashion once again, trying to get him to listen. She heard Phoebe shriek behind her, and she instantly composed herself, swinging herself around to face her friends.

“Hello, girls! Looks like some one got the last pair! Ha, and they look pretty frickin amazing, if you ask me.” She gestured to her foot, with was now turning bright red. The pain no longer hurt because she had lost all feeling.

“Um.” Terrance’s squeaky voice came form behind her. She spun around at him, hissing.

“What?” He looked at her shyly, knowing these shoes meant serious business. He stood up with the box.

“So a sale then?” He grinned at her, trying to hide his abhorrence at her behavior towards The Shoes. Without waiting for an answer, he spun around, and walked over to the machine closest. She limped, attempting to sway her hips, but with her numb leg, it was an almost impossible feat. She took a few minutes to close the gap between them and leaned heavily against the counter. Taking her credit card out of her clutch, she handed it over to him. He took it from her apprehensively. She smiled at him and leant over to whisper to him.

“You know how it is – sometimes the shoe just has to go on.” She winked, and he smiled in return. He truly didn’t understand, but he would attempt to, for the rest of his life.

The Shoes: http://www3.pictures.zimbio.com/img/5...
somethings just need a picture to describe.


message 13: by Rachael (new)

Rachael (rayle504) | 107 comments nice job averi


message 14: by Jan (new)

Jan (auntyjan) | 196 comments I wonder if you've had some extreme shoe experiences yourself, Averi? No need to apologise for your story, I liked it, and I haven't managed to think of any ideas yet...you did well! I did think of a poem, however.


message 15: by [deleted user] (new)

loved ur story Ave's!


message 16: by [deleted user] (new)

thanks guys :P
Haha, yeah, Jan, today i went to Payless and there were these amazing shoes and it was just soooo heartbreaking not to be able to get my feet into them :( haha
ah, well, thinking of an idea isn't that hard... let your mind flow!! haha


message 17: by Katrina (new)

Katrina Knight (KatrinaKnight) ok so i am not impressed with my story in fact if not for liking the idea i wouldn't post it at all. but i really do love the idea so i wanted to share this with you....someday i will rewrite and make it worthy....so here goes nothin:
The SHOE MUST GO ON..........
WORD COUNT 533
Shoes have always been important to me and my family. We argue about them weekly. My dad and I disagree about who has more shoes. He does actually although he will never ever admit it. I believe in having the right shoes for whatever life might throw at you. He believes that only counts if its work boots. One day many years ago I was cleaning out the attached garage on our house and throw out several battered and broken pairs of work boots that he never wore anymore. Well let’s just say it’s not a story I like to remember. He was extremely angry. When in anger I jumped on my pedal bike to avoid doing something we both would have regretted I found a moose…but that’s another story all together. Yes shoe have always been very important to my family.
Well really all through history shoes have been important to every person in every family, but in the history of my family there was one pair of shoes that meant more than any other shoes. As years and generations passed one was lost and no one has been able to find it. You see my great great great Granddaddy was a shoe maker. He made shoes of good leather. It was his trade and his life. He was proud and respected. This is what I am told anyway. So the boot became an heirloom. That boot was the only thing that he owned, and made that we have left. However you are probably wondering what kind of weird family passes down a shoe as an heirloom?
After the incident of the work boots in the trash, I stopped pondering why we keep the shoe that great great great granddaddy made and just went with the flow.
It was old very old, and some of the seams were splitting. So it wasn’t as if my mother was going to allow it to be displayed so it sat in the closet up high with boxes of other random things that were rarely used, but there it stayed.
One day I was reaching for a box of something at this point I don’t even remember what it was in the top of that closet at the back of the house. The boot dislodged from its place and fell, I jerked back so it wouldn’t hit me in the head. The fragile materials shifted and I said a inappropriate word. The sole of the shoe had come even farther apart from the leather and I sighed, reaching up to place the shoe back on the shelf, looking around to see if anyone had noticed me wrecking the heirloom. No one had. Something metal was showing though as I looked at the boot, between the sole and the leather there was something shining. I reached for it and pulled, out popped a gold ring with a beautiful red stone. Oh my goodness, I almost dropped it and the shoe in surprise. Now that was an heirloom.
And suddenly I was glad that the shoe had stayed with the family for all these years and it suddenly made poetic sense that the she had to go on.


message 18: by Rachael (new)

Rachael (rayle504) | 107 comments again...everyone who posted did such a nice job with their stories. hmmmmm.... which one to vote for???? lol. great work all!!!


message 19: by Stephanie (new)


message 20: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments The results are here!

Stephanie, Michael, and Averi, all tied in at first place!

Katrina came in second.

And Kat came in third.



message 21: by Rachael (new)

Rachael (rayle504) | 107 comments congrats to all.... the stories were really good for this topic.


message 22: by Caitlan (new)

Caitlan (lyonessrampant) | 2867 comments ugh no i cant write at all


message 23: by Katrina (new)

Katrina Knight (KatrinaKnight) Hey. Don't think that way. Its not true. You can write I always enjoy your stories! Keep up the good work :)


message 24: by Caitlan (new)

Caitlan (lyonessrampant) | 2867 comments thanks Katrina, but ur the only one


message 25: by [deleted user] (new)

No, she's not the only one. I just joined so I hadn't read your submission for this week yet but I just did and it was very well done. I enjoyed it quite a lot. :) Keep it up.


message 26: by Caitlan (new)

Caitlan (lyonessrampant) | 2867 comments Thanks Logan...


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