Weekly Challenge #450 – Shoe

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic: SHOE

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The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of PATIENT. Scroll up and click on Weekly Challenge to learn how to join us!



by John Musico

I remember reading an interview with John Lennon. The reporter asked him; “What does I am the walrus mean? After a pause Lennon replied simply, “Nothing”.
I had been recalling that amusing story the day of “the shoe”. That day I brought a huge nail, a hammer and a shoe to work and nailed it to a tree out back where the break tables were.
Thereafter, I sat on break, listening to coworker’s theories on the shoe, maintaining my poker face.
Guessing I probably was behind the mischief, they asked; “What does it mean?”
I paused and replied simply, “Nothing”.



By Christopher Munroe

I’m never more nervous than when things go well.

I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Which isn’t healthy, it isn’t normal, I know it isn’t, and it robs me of my ability to enjoy the good things, and there are plenty of good things in my life!

I can’t help it, it’s just who I am.

Even my victories I find myself unable to enjoy…

For example, if all went well, by the time you hear this I’ll be done my NaNoWriMo draft.

And yet, as of writing this, I’m kind of still freaked out about it…


Cinderella’s Trial
by Jeffrey Fischer

Cinderella, dressed in her magical finery, was at the prince’s ball, all right, just as the story went. Where fiction deviated from fact was that Cinderella lost her slipper while looting ladies’ handbags in the cloakroom.

At her trial, Johnnie Cochran waved the slipper, shouting, “If the shoe don’t fit, you must acquit!” Johnnie was using a variant on the phrase a lot in those days. Unfortunately for him and his client, the glass slipper fit perfectly on Cindy’s foot. She was sentenced to prison, where she spent the next 15 years perfecting the fairy tale version of her story that we all know.

Size 8
by Jeffrey Fischer

Irene was that insufferable colleague who makes the entire work day a chore: unpleasant, arrogant, constantly interrupting others with strongly-held but frequently-incorrect observations. Her smug grin was the crap frosting on the mud cake. Mom always told me I shouldn’t criticize someone before I’ve walked a mile in her shoes, so I stole a pair of Irene’s pumps, squeezed my size 11 feet into them, and walked a painful mile before I tore those shoes off my blistered feet. Now, by God, I let her have it every chance I get, and I feel great.


#1 – George’s Story – Part 83: Impassable

George rebounded from the door in spectacular fashion, doing far more damage to his shoulder than the door or its frame.

Rather than take the hint, George’s temper flared and he charged back at the door, aiming a wild, karate-style kick at the offending obstacle. Unfortunately, the violence of the kick caused his shoe to fly off down the corridor, resulting in his unprotected foot connecting violently with the unyielding wood.

George screamed in pain and reached for the door handle to break his fall as he crashed to the floor.

The door swung easily open under his weight… outwards.

#2 – Shoe

Shoes can be so expensive, particularly when you only have one leg – what’s the point of buying a pair when you can only ever wear one of them?

After years of inconvenience, I decided the only solution was to turn to crime and, in one afternoon I quietly liberated most of the single shoes on display outside shoe shops in the town centre.

Only when I returned home and took a good look at my ill-gotten gains did I realise my terrible mistake…

Shops only ever put the right shoe on display, but I only have a left leg!



I truly believe that the person responsible for women’s shoes was into some hard core S&M. If you don’t spend your whole day in slippers you are in some serious pain before noon.

I have tried everything under the sun to make my shoes more comfortable. Purchased countless insoles of varying types. I have worn damp socks to stretch out shoes and blow-dried them into place. I have put bandaids on different parts of my feet and the shoes to prevent blisters.

My conclusion, stick to slippers and anyone who thinks differently can go fuck themselves cus there my feet!


There was once a mouse, that lived in an old shoe. The shoe had been lying under a hedge for more years than a mouse can imagine. But not too many for a cat to remember. It saw, it always saw, when a new mouse had moved into such a safe, inviting nest. The mouse would come and go, nibbling on the little things that little mice eat. And all the while the cat watched, stone still, basking as if in the sun, in the ecstasy of power.

Until the cat would end it, and wait for the next mouse.
I have a second story, but it will not go down to anything close to 100 words, so you can read “The Cobbler and the Devil” on my blog instead. God, the Devil, the Internet, and Linden Lab permitting, I will also read it at Book Island the same day the podcast goes out, 1pm SLT.


If The Shoe Fits, Wait For It To Drop

His name was Dimitri. I called him Dim. because he was.

We worked together; third shift over at Kozlowski’s sausage factory. He ran
the grinder. I stuffed casings.

One night, he’s got this burning itchy foot fungus thing going on and he’s
hopping around pulling his shoe off to scratch it when he stumbles and the
shoe flies out of his hands and sails into the vat of meat scraps feeding
the grinder.

Next morning, Dim punches out wearing only one shoe.

Management stares but says nothing.

You learn not to ask questions when you work at a sausage factory.

(“Amari szi Amari” by Rozsa / rozsaband.com / curator: freemusicarchive.org
/ Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0)


After Toni’s run in with the cops, it was necessary to show him the error of his ways.

Now I’m a pretty fair boss, so I just told the boys to rough him up a bit, break a few fingers, that sort of thing, but nothing excessive… After all, who doesn’t make mistakes?

Once business was concluded, I didn’t want Toni thinking there was bad feeling between us, so I sent the boys out to buy him a nice new suit – his old one being torn and covered in blood

Hell, I even bought him new shoes.

Concrete ones.


“Stop chewing on my shoe!” said dad.
“She will not understand you.” said Drew.

“Deja de mascar mi zapatos” tries dad.

“First your Spanish is terrible. Second you do realize that the reason she doesn’t understand you isn’t because her breed is from Mexico but because she is a dog, right? Come here girl, I have a chew toy”

“Have you named your puppy yet, because I suggest you call her Imelda.” said dad.

Drew replies “Maybe mother can take you to buy a new pair if you don’t call mother Imelda every time you enter a show store together.”


If The Shoe Fits

“These are magic shoes”

m-a-g-i-c s-h-o-e-s

“Yup, made them myself.’

“Frank you’re an accountant.

Accountants don’t make magic shoes.


Where the fuck did he disappear to?”

“Over here,” said the voice.

Bill looked up to see Frank walking across the ceiling, but it wasn’t Frank talking. It was the shoes.

“So you’re talking magic shoes.”

“That’s Mr. Talking Magic Shoes ugly bag of mostly water.”

“Frank I think your shoes have attitude.”

“Damn right, monkey boy. In the new world order you’re my Shoe Shin Monkey.”

“Don’t think so cow skins, Rex chew up these tasty shoes will you.”

A Well Defined Relationship Part 75


The company made their way to the razor wire perimeter of the Bandit’s Lair. Sparky hit the cloaking array one by one all but El Cid blinked out, who moved steadily forward at Senator Smith’s assistance. “Sheath indeed Doctor Proctor. Hey hombre turn on the lights.” The holographic image Pancho Villa appeared.” “Si Senor Cid. Would you like transport?” “Send out Brain.” From the far end of the compound a vehicle rolled towards the Bandit

“Sleep Hombre,” said El Cid. The company climbed aboard the Brain. “Take us to the Tamerlane” a gun resting against his ribs insured continued cooperation.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 76


Brain deftly made his way between all of the defenses the Bandit had noted during the Tachyon love fest. The door to Warehouse 14 opened and Brain roll into the towering metal structure.

“Holy Shit, “croaked Sparky. The interior was filled with row upon row of computer banks.

“Is this Tamerlane?” ask Timmy

“No,” said Dino Mod, “That is.”

A red light at the center outlined an object the size of a bread box.

“Kill the cloak,” said the Doctor, “Tamerlane knows we are here. Isn’t the right Caesar?”

“Good Bye Doctor.”
As the company appeared El Cid vanished.


Overheard in the Park

Ow Ow Ow!

Why all the noise, son?

My feet hurt Dad. A LOT.

Is it a ‘I stubbed my toe” owie, or more a “there’s a rock in my shoe” owie?

No, and no.

Okay, let’s use logic. Have you trimmed your toe nails lately? Have you jumped from high places? Did you check for scorpions before you put on your shoes?

Yes, no and yes. It’s like my feet are squashed. I hate these new shoes.

Did you mix up the left and right?


And that’s how it is when the shoe is on the other foot.


The Secret

John was obsessed with his one, inadmissible, incomprehensible secret: the shoe.

In his whole life, no one knew of it. No one suspected. It wasn’t after all the kind of thing one might suspect.

John never spoke of it. His demeanor never gave away how it had come to be his, how he kept it close for all those years, when he lived an otherwise apparently normal life, with wife, children, eventually grandchildren and even great-grandchildren.

And yet, it never left his mind. Marriages, births, birthdays, anniversaries, illness, for richer and for poorer, the years passed in deliberate indifference to John’s hidden truth, his secret, the shoe.

A Pair of Shoes

All we need now, said the boy named Jesse, is a parashoes.

What for, said the other.

To keep us from falling, answered Jesse. He climbed out of the laundry basket and down the ladder to the floor of the garage. They tried tying a large towel to the basket. Just hold onto it, said Jesse. Hold it tight.

A woman crying Jesse! Jesse! ran out of the house as fast as she could. She was older and overweight and it wasn’t very fast. Get down from there! Get down before I get my shoe after you, Jesse Campbell!

The two boys scrambled away to safety.


Superconductor opened a door off the hallway. The sound of people shouting and laughing spilled from the room.
“Go in,” Garbage Man grunted.
Men and women gathered around felt covered tables. Dealers chatted as they flipped cards out to the players.
An empty semi-circular table awaited them, a dealer scowling from behind it.
“I like to give everyone a chance,” Superconductor said. “If you can beat the house at ten hands of Black Jack, I’ll let you live.”
The dealer slipped two cards out of the shoe for each player, turning his second card face up, showing ten of spades.”


Blue Suede Shoes



“I said, SHOE!”

“I just got here! You are SO rude! I came to deliver your mail, and you tell me to SHOO? This is the dumbest witness protection program ever, Elvis!” I angrily threw the mail on the ground, not caring that the old, wizened lump sitting on the couch, sustained by tubes of amniotic fluids, preservatives, experimental drugs and blenderized cheeseburger potato and ice cream smoothies, who was one of America’s greatest living music legends-still-kept-alive-in-secret, would be offended.

“Ya got shit on your shoe.”

“Oh. Uh, let me pick these up, sir.”


Ronnie walked through the comforting darkness of night time. He wore one shoe and held the other against his chest. No one bothered to make any comment. He was a freak. He knew he was a freak and he acted like a freak. Even when the first snowflakes covered the streets in white, he still acted like a freak, holding one shoe against his chest. Inside the shoe was a black sock, the one he wasn’t wearing. Tucked inside the sock was a tiny bird. The wing will heal beautifully, he thought. And it did, right in time for spring.


In Charlie Chaplin movies and old cartoons, starving people (or anthropomorphic characters) end up eating shoes.

“Why don’t they just sell their shoes and use the money to buy food?” I’d ask my parents.

“They’re in the woods, far from civilization,” they’d say. “Nobody to sell them to.”

Then the characters would have serious hunger delusions, and try to eat each other.

“Why don’t they just skip all that shoe-eating and eat each other?” I asked.

But my parents didn’t answer, as they were staring at me, hungry… starving… desperate…

Why did I ever allow them to take me camping.

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