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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Misadventures of A Windy Day
The clouds in the distance grew darker and more ominous. They gathered conspiratorially over the ocean and rain began to fall gently. Wind should not go play with the rain and the ocean. The three caused great mischief together but today a little mischief might be just what the wind wanted. Plunging from the top of the cliff, wind sped off to join the rain as it danced gracefully atop the deep blue waters.
By A. J. Schoenfeldabout a year ago in Fiction
Adventures of A Windy Day
Wind blew listlessly through the deep green forest, rustling the leaves on the trees half-heartedly before sweeping across a nearby meadow to bend each blade of grass gently in a reverent bow. It soared high into the air, weaving through a waterfall on the far side of the meadow, carrying a cascade of mist across the delicate blue and ivory flowers that grew along the edge of the little stream below. Then it raced through a tunnel high on the mountain side, moaning hauntingly. But the restless wind soon tired of such childish games and came to rest on the edge of a high cliff with a mournful sigh. There was nothing to do and worse, no reason to do it.
By A. J. Schoenfeldabout a year ago in Fiction
Lost to the Darkness
There was only one rule: don't open the door. In case we forgot, it was secured shut with a rusty old padlock with no key. But, we never considered opening it, not after seeing the terror in Grandpa's eyes when he told us not to. We knew there was evil enclosed in that cellar.
By A. J. Schoenfeldabout a year ago in Horror
In Your Life, I Love You More
The cool Spring air wafts in through the sliding glass door as the sun drops lazily behind the purple mountains in the distance. I wrap a soft quilt tight around the tiny boy nestled in my arms and he nuzzles dreamily into my shoulder. He's been fussier than usual tonight; his first night without his Mommy. My heart swells with satisfaction that he wants me to cuddle him. He wants me, his awkward teenage aunt, not Grandma, not Booga. It's probably because I sound just like Mommy to him. But whatever the reason, I'm more than happy to indulge my sweet little nephew.
By A. J. Schoenfeldabout a year ago in Families
Run, Little Girls, Run
When I was grown up I wasn't scared like this. But today I'm small again, a little girl just six years old playing with my best friend Jess, her sisters, and mine. It seems like a typical summer day with the sunlight streaming through the front window and bathing the five of us in warmth as we laugh together with our Barbies spread out around their living room. But my heart is pounding in my ears, my mouth feels dry, and the little hairs prickle along the back of my neck whispering to me of unseen peril. I try to focus on the fun we're having, but I can feel the danger lurking close by.
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 years ago in Fiction
Let the Whispers Lead
Rays of sunlight streamed through the green canopy above me, bathing everything in a soft welcoming glow. A gentle breeze fluttered through the branches kissing the back of my neck with its welcomed cool touch. I could hear the leaves whisper to me as they rustled in the wind.
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 years ago in Fiction
The Colors Of My Dragon's Scales
I saw her as the most stunningly beautiful creature imaginable. Graceful in her movements, confident in her melodic voice, with bright shining eyes that could captivate your soul. She stood out from the ordinary creatures around her; the sunlight dancing across the rainbow jewellike scales along her back. When she spread her pearlescent wings wide, the world would stop and stare in awe. I had the fortune of growing up in the shadow of those wings.
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 years ago in Families
Cheerleader
The crack of the bat echoed through the crisp evening air as Lexi watched the softball climb high into the sky. Years of practice and instinct kicked in, propelling her forward. Before she even realized she'd begun running her feet hit the rubber mat at first base. Despite her heart pounding in her ears as she pushed herself to run faster she could hear the roar of the crowd cheering her on. But somehow above all that noise she could hear one voice clear as day.
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 years ago in Families
Words of Love. Top Story - March 2024.
The filtered sunlight bathed the room in a warm glow befitting a lazy Sunday afternoon. A brown haired girl about eight snuggled a small ball of white fur from her perch on the black lava rock hearth. Nearby, a tall lanky man with a full dark beard stretched across the dark brown shag carpet, resting his head on the bottom of the olive green couch. A curly brown haired woman sat in the Naugahyde rocking chair in the corner, a book splayed open in her hands, as she filled the air with a tapestry woven of words written decades before.
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 years ago in Writers
