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 (10)
Stories (103)
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Unplugged
The old mountain road wound through stunning passages of deep red and white layered rock, under brilliantly colored canopies of deep green pines mixed with soft chartreuse Aspen leaves, and past the soft tinkling cascades of miniature waterfalls. But in the backseat of the old green Jeep that trundled up the road, Hannah and Greg saw none of the landscape. Both had their faces buried deep in their electronic devices and ears blocked by headphones. While, up in the front seat, Joe listened with rapt attention as Tara pointed out different features and regaled him with tales of exploring these mountains as a young girl.
By A. J. Schoenfeldabout a year ago in Fiction
Boxed In: A Night Out Ruined
Looking back, we could have avoided this. There were a thousand decisions and had either of us made a different choice we wouldn't be here. He'd tell you it started with me opening the mysterious box. But no, our problems started long before that. It's been months since we've been able to agree on anything and everything seems to go wrong. It was no different last night.
By A. J. Schoenfeldabout a year ago in Chapters
Puppy Love
In the beginning he was just a teeny tiny ball of black fluff. He was nervous and would shake until we picked him up and cuddled him close. We were more than happy to accommodate him. He was the most adorable snuggly thing imaginable. He'd jump about so excited when we brought out the leash and took him for walks. At first, he'd tug and he'd pull then he'd lag behind. Sometimes he'd slip right out of his collar. But we gently taught him to walk right by our side. Soon he learned to stay with us, even without a leash. Though he'd tucker out halfway home and I'd have to carry him back.
By A. J. Schoenfeldabout a year ago in Petlife
The Last Sunset. Honorable Mention in Through the Lens Challenge.
It's a little blurry and not the best composition. The sky it captured was not the most spectacular. But this snapshot has become one of my most favorite. When I look at it, I go back to an autumn evening a quarter of a century ago.
By A. J. Schoenfeldabout a year ago in Photography
Somewhere Between Godhood and Delusion
My existence floats somewhere between godhood and delusion. Creation, destruction, and attachments to figments of imagination are all normal occurrences in my daily life. When I stop and think about what it is I really do, it's honestly a little disturbing.
By A. J. Schoenfeldabout a year ago in Motivation
In His Hands
Almost instinctively, we casually intertwined our fingers and absent-mindedly rubbed our thumbs in circles periodically across the back of the other hand. We had done the same thing day after day for a quarter of a century, touch being an essential love language for us both. If we were near enough, inevitably our hands found each other and settled into their own lover’s embrace. On this occasion we sat at a back corner table in a piano bar on a cruise ship. The tiny bar teemed with other passengers, most a little tipsy, all seemingly enjoying the talented crooning and gentle humor of the British pianist as he regaled us with classic rock ballads. Many shouted requests, including the lady insistent he play some song she couldn’t remember but he must know. (She seemed more than just a bit tipsy and we never did figure out what song she wanted.) The crowd swayed back and forth in rhythm, halfway between a dance and a counterbalance to the rocking of the ship.
By A. J. Schoenfeldabout a year ago in Beat
Stormy Story Time
Outside the wind howled like a banshee as it lifted fallen snow up from the banks to dance through the sky with the heavy flakes still falling from above. Branches of the old sycamore tree out front waved back and forth groaning from the weight of the building snow and scratching against the frost coated window pane. The sound drove a chill up Jane's already freezing spine as she hurriedly changed into her footie pajamas. As she pulled up the zipper, she bravely crept to the window sill and peered out. The only thing visible was a small glowing white orb from the street lamp on the corner, its feeble light trying in vain to penetrate the dense wall of fog and snow. It seemed as though the wind had blown away the rest of the world leaving only Jane's house and a single lamp to be buried in the snow. The thought sent yet another chill up her back.
By A. J. Schoenfeldabout a year ago in Families
