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 (8)
Stories (95)
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A Winter Devotional. Top Story - December 2025.
Large, fluffy white flakes swirl slowly to the ground in a gentle, choreographed waltz. Safe and warm inside my house, wrapped in a cozy blanket on the velvet couch, I watch in silence through the huge front window as everything becomes white. The world, time itself, lessens its pace to match the cadence of the first true snowfall.
By A. J. Schoenfeld23 days ago in Humans
Shut In. Top Story - December 2025.
It's upstairs at the end of a long dark hall, an undescript door caked in enough dust it blends into the faded wallpaper. The light doesn't quite reach that distant end of the corridor so I rarely venture down that far. Every so often, I'll pause before entering one of the other well-used rooms and glance toward it as if drawn by some long ago memory. But my tired eyes never linger long and the thought passes just as quickly as it started and I go on with my day.
By A. J. Schoenfeldabout a month ago in Fiction
Mid-Life Crisis? . Top Story - November 2025.
Happy birthday. Your life is half over. What now? On November 2, I woke up to find I had turned 45. I'm not quite sure how that happened; I swear yesterday I was still in my thirties. But I did the math, and I am in fact 45. By quickly reviewing my family history, I confirmed my fears. My father, grandmother, and two great-grandparents only lived to their mid-sixties, two great-grandparents hit their late seventies, my other grandma and both grandpas died in their mid-eighties, two Great-Grandparents got to 88, another to 89, and one made it all the way to 90. Based on those statistics, it's a safe, and sobering, assumption that my sojourn here on earth is half over, and that's being optimistic. So as one often does at this stage of life, I felt the day called for a little self-reflection. What have I done with my first 45 years and what do I plan to do with the next?
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 months ago in Humans
Lone Skum
His fat fingers scraped against the crumbs embedded between the cushions. Damn quarters were so hard to find these days. But he had reached his breaking point and desperately needed one. Finally, his fingers closed on a precious metal disc and he triumphantly raced down the hall clutching his prize.
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 months ago in Fiction
