A. J. Schoenfeld
Bio
I only write about the real world. But if you look close enough, you'll see there's magic hiding in plain sight everywhere.
Achievements (9)
Stories (99)
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An August Aria. Top Story - August 2025.
The sun was dipping low, stretching its light out in a giant yawn that splashed the sky with vibrant fuchsia as it pulled the cover of the mountains over its head. The color caught my eye, stirring something in the back of my heart, a forgotten passion tugging at my cobwebbed mind. I watched the pink fade into deep purple and the gears in my brain began to speak, narrating what I was seeing with the flowery language I once used to build my now abandoned worlds. My fingers started to twitch, eager to dance across the keyboard.
By A. J. Schoenfeld6 months ago in Fiction
God's Garden
Someone recently offered me a soapbox upon which I could stand and shout my message for all to hear. I stood there, awkwardly holding my brass bell, staring at the crowds of people gathered to listen. A thousand thoughts flew through my head. I had only one chance to share with everyone one thing, one message, one thought that burned deep in my soul.
By A. J. Schoenfeld6 months ago in Humans
Second Chance At First Love
Life simply did not go according to plan for Marilyn. She watched jealousy as others passed by, seeming to have it all. It was easier when her children were still at home, small and completely reliant on her to care for them. She was too busy to notice the emptiness that lurked deep down inside. But they had grown up and moved on, now busy chasing their own children, living their own lives hundreds of miles away. Now Marilyn’s life had devolved into the mindless monotony of scanning other people's purchases for eight hours before diving into take out while watching reruns of old sitcoms on TV. Both in the store and on the screen, Marilym watched others live the life she never had. She often felt it was fitting how the yellow fluorescent lights overhead washed out her features, making her look ordinary and plain, just another forgettable face.
By A. J. Schoenfeld7 months ago in Fiction
Boxed In: Trapped in the Dark
I was drifting through a dream of peaceful nothingness. The kind of comfortable sleep reserved for vacations and lazy Sunday mornings. A cool breeze ruffled over my shoulders and beckoned to me. I rolled over to snuggle in closer to Ryan to soak in his body heat but he no longer was there. I sat up to look for him, but my eyes wouldn't open. As though sewn shut, the lids refused to budge. I tried to call for him, but my mouth wouldn't open, my lips stuck together. I have had this nightmare before, in the in-between moments when sleep refuses to loosen its grip on me. That's all this is….
By A. J. Schoenfeld7 months ago in Chapters
My Only Daughter
I dreamt of you again last night, your curls bouncing as you ran through a field of purple flowers. Your big brown eyes, full of wonder, watched as butterflies darted from bud to bud. The sun fell on your tiny face, bathing you in a glowing halo of light. I could hear the echo of your giggle as you drew near, calling out for me to hold you. I crouched down, arms outstretched, ready to sweep you up in a giant hug, twirl you about, and never let you go.
By A. J. Schoenfeld7 months ago in Fiction
Come Crawl Inside My Broken Brain
Imagine curling up with a brand new novel, the spine still crisp and the pages still smell of untold adventure. The light of the window falls softly over the armchair where you've snuggled up in the fuzzy soft blanket reserved for lazy Sunday afternoons. There's nothing planned for hours while dinner slowly roasts in the oven and you get to dive into the colorful new world waiting within the black and white print.
By A. J. Schoenfeld7 months ago in Writers
Where the Sun Meets the Earth. Runner-Up in History Would’ve Burned This Page Challenge. Top Story - July 2025.
The red Nebraska sun had dipped down to kiss the tops of the corn stalk sentinels, silhouetting them against the burnt orange sky as they marched off to the horizon. Howard slowly meandered back to the farm house, a rivulet of sweat slipped down his neck under the collar of his work shirt and his muscles ached from a long day of working the fields with his brother. As he neared the rickety old porch he spotted his sister bent over a bucket shucking fresh picked ears of corn. A soft breeze floated past, carrying the sound of Lorna Belle’s gentle voice.
By A. J. Schoenfeld8 months ago in History
