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 (96)
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Between the Cushions
Despite the funky smell and the scratchy crumbs that slide into all my cracks, I actually prefer it here. When I’m here, no one wipes their buttery or cheesy fingers on me. My face is safe from being sat upon, or worse, farted upon. I’m not slammed around in annoyance when the Dolphins miss the final touchdown or the smaller ones are told to go do chores. No one rips off my backside and pries out my innards to be used for a game. Here I am safe from being kicked around, chewed on, stepped on, smacked about, or fought over. Truth be told, most of the time it isn’t an accident that I end up here. Sometimes, when they leave me too close to the edge, I purposely slide off and plummet into this dark, safe crevice. Once out of sight, I wiggle down as deep as I can get. Then, I patiently wait for all the fun to begin and I usually don't have to wait long. Though their voices are muffled in here, I can still hear them clear enough to really enjoy the impending pandemonium.
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 years ago in Fiction
Running Away
The screech of tires punctuated with impatient horns interspersed with the wail of sirens from varying distances had become deafening. I used to find comfort in the constant drone of the bustling city, but then it became all too much. It was everywhere, all the time. I laid awake in bed tossing and turning, trying in vain to shut it out. I struggled to pay attention to television shows, my mind constantly pulled by the incessant noise that permeated the air. I could not remember the last time I was able to actually read a book. I chewed my fingernails to bloody pulps as my anxiety swelled. I had to get away, somewhere far away from the claustrophobic crowds that pressed in around me whenever I ventured out of my apartment. I had to get out of that filthy city and find some peace and quiet.
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 years ago in Fiction
Bedside Vigil
Beep…beep…blip blip…beep…beep. The machine monitoring Sharon's vitals cuts through the heavy silence of the room. Louise sits by the side of her daughter, watching her chest struggle to rise and fall. She has been here before, sitting at the bedside of one she loves, waiting. First her father-in-law, then each of her parents took their turns moving into her home where she cared for them day and night until they passed. Then her husband, she laughs bitterly to herself at the memory of the damn pizza delivery he kept ordering every time she left his bedside. Perhaps at that point it was already too late for his fatty liver, but she still wonders if she would have had a few more weeks with her love without that damn pizza. It was excruciating watching him bloat uncomfortably and turn that sickly shade of gray, his mind slowly getting twisted around and confused as the toxins built up in his bloodstream. She never expected to live through that again but only a decade later, as her oldest son's liver succumbed to years of drug abuse, she sat lovingly at his bedside. She watched him bloat, turn gray, and lose his mind before finally passing away.
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 years ago in Fiction
The Dragon's Tear
The sound of snapping branches and falling trees echoed through the forest. Something massive lumbered about, half stumbling and half running through the pines. The small boy held his breath and pressed his back harder against the rough stone wall behind him, trying his best to sink into it and become invisible. Sharp points in the stone dug painfully into his shoulder blades, fear welled up inside him and he desperately wanted to cry out for his mother. But he remembered the look of panic on her face as she stashed him in the small alcove.
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 years ago in Chapters
Why Write?
For as long as I can remember my fingers have itched to put words on paper. I have drawers teeming with notebooks filled with half-formed stories and characters who exist only in my imagination. Ever since the third grade when I wrote my first epic story, The Toilet Zone, about aliens who invade a house through a magical conduit in the sewers, I have wanted to be an author. I have literally spent hundreds of hours twisting words into fantasy worlds over the past four decades of my life. Four decades of clinging to a dream and what do I have to show for it? A callus on my right middle finger the size of Nebraska, a mild case of carpal tunnel syndrome, and enough disappointment to fill the ocean. In an attempt to reinvigorate my passion for writing I began entering short stories to challenges on Vocal ten months ago. A dozen stories in and I've had one like, one positive comment, eleven total reads, and earned a whopping $0.08. So now, I ask myself, why haven't I had any success yet and why do I keep chasing this dream?
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 years ago in Chapters
The Eternal Dance
In a time before time and a world before worlds, where no light existed and no sound had been heard, three brothers sat back to back to back. They had nothing to worry about and no one to impress until Terra danced past in that shimmering dress and quick as can be she captivated all three. There was something in the way that she spun and she twisted that made each man believe she was the reason he existed. Wanting his love to show each brother began to glow.
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 years ago in Fiction
The House of Jordan
The House of Jordan Characters: Jordan Lee is the eccentric, spoiled child of a billionaire tycoon who has been cut off financially but has been allowed to live in the smallest of the family's mansions. Jordan decides to rent out 5 of the rooms in the mansion to students of the nearby university in order to earn money. Jordan is constantly concocting crazy schemes to make money, create entertainment, regain an allowance, go on adventures, etc and always ropes the five tenants into doing all the work. Jordan is recognizable by wearing thick square framed bright yellow glasses, oversized pop-art design sweatshirts, and a long silky yellow and green scarf that frequently smacks other characters in the face. However, Jordan is always portrayed by a different recognizable actor/celebrity in each episode and could be male, female, short, tall, thin, chubby, and of any ethnicity. While Jordan is central to the storyline, there are only a few cameo type appearances in each episode. Jordan never remembers anyone’s name except Riley.
By A. J. Schoenfeld3 years ago in Humor
I Am My Father's Daughter
1. My Dad was a Master Storyteller No one could tell a story like my Dad. But I’m going to do my best to give two of his favorites a try. The all-time classic was the story of a fateful hunting trip with his Uncle Ray and his tote-goat. I sat in many parties and heard him tell the tale many times throughout my life. The recounting was always the same and always resulted in a room full of side-splitting laughter. First, Dad would set the story up. Uncle Ray loaded the buck they had got onto the back of the tote-goat to pack it down from the mountain. He jumped on the front and revved the engine. The front of the tote-goat popped up into the air making Uncle Ray slide down to the back. At this point Dad began acting the story as much as he told it. Raising his hands over his head, Dad would show how he tried to pull down the front of the tote-goat followed by miming Uncle Ray's reaction. "I pulled down on the handlebars and Ray went no-no-no-no." Dad would then jump into the air as though being shocked by a cattle prod. He went on repeating the actions until everyone was laughing so hard they couldn't breathe, “I kept pulling down on the handlebars and Ray kept yelling 'no-no-no-no.' I'd let go, the front tire would go jump back up so, I'd pull down again and Ray would yell 'no-no-no-no.'. Finally, I stopped and we realized when the front tire had jumped up, Ray had slid backwards and the tine of the buck had gone straight up his butt!" Apparently, Uncle Ray never went hunting again after that. But no worries, there were other epic stories.
By A. J. Schoenfeld3 years ago in Men
The End
Thick acrid smoke weaves through the undying vows whispered between lovers clinging onto each other’s hands. Fear tears at mothers promising final lies of comfort as they draw their children close. Minds race with memories of triumphs, regrets, and lost loves. Believers and doubters alike beg for mercy from the God of their youth. Flight Attendants shout instructions in calm steady voices that belie the panic of their pounding hearts. Pilots desperately try to save the doomed vessel. A hundred stories never told plummet from the sky in their metal tomb. Together they slip into a watery grave of oblivion.
By A. J. Schoenfeld3 years ago in Fiction
