Sherri L Dodd
Bio
An emblazoned redhead with plenty to say in text.
Mother with a sense of humor, published writer of a fitness book, nutritional manual and many articles...and now...Fantasy Fiction!
Stories (3/0)
Imperfect Parenting
Shortly after having my first baby, I decided I was going to be the Perfect Parent. I immediately began to keep an intelligent stack of child-rearing books on my nightstand and would replenish stock as each book was absorbed into my sub-consciousness and checked off the "read" list. My fixation on perfection was evident. The local bookstore clerk (support Local Biz!) began to call me by name. My bank statement regularly presented shopping tendancies to my husband, and he was consistently reminded of my expertise on parenting from my readily available corrections and helpful tips.
By Sherri L Dodd2 years ago in Families
Mom's Imagination
Walking on one of the wooded trails around my older son's school, I noticed a man corralling a child that resembled my toddler, clothes and all. They were on the trail a small distance above mine separated by a ravine. I was not sure about the accuracy of my increasingly-aged vision, but nevertheless hurried to reach the trail head where we would both merge upon the parking lot. Now obviously I knew I had safely dropped my toddler off at his preschool that morning, but still wondered why was there such a striking resemblance? As I drew near, I noticed the bleached-blonde-haired gentlemen hastily packing the child into the passenger front seat. My heart began to settle since I realized the child was a bit older and not my son, but I continued to approach anyway. The man slammed the door to the silver Volvo wagon with slightly tinted glass and executed a quick jog to the driver's side. As I emerged upon the road, they drove past me. I noticed that the boy in the front seat was around six, however, as I scanned the back seat passengers of the passing car, I did see my beloved toddler strapped tightly in the driver's side back seat, his expression marked with a curiosity of "where am I going". PANIC! I could not believe what I was seeing! It was him! I started chasing the car and tried to retain every bit of information I could. Driver - man in his late thirties, beach bum style hair and clothing, approximately 5'11" and slightly stocky. The car color, year and license plate with only a local dealer's advertisement were burned into my memory. I continued to pursue the car and as it sped from the scene, the sinking feeling of helplessness weighed on me as my running gave out to a crumpled defeat. I didn't want to stop the chase for I would lose sight of the direction, yet I needed to call someone in the seemingly vacant neighborhood to launch the Amber Alert and summon the police. I screamed for help. "Please someone help me!" I began to cry, sobbing and shouting "No! No! No!"
By Sherri L Dodd2 years ago in Families
A Wistful Search for Spirit
“Amaris Chiltus. Amaris Felis.” Arista softly chanted, as she placed her golden snuffer atop the desperate dancing flame and stifled its last sip of oxygen. Her purple votive Abundance candle hinted scents of lavender, fir and morning chamomile and except for the wintery theme of her bedding you would have thought you found the actual scent of the color itself. She twisted her elongated labradorite ring to release its grip on her index finger and set it reverently on a stack of natural stone beaded bracelets that she kept on her bedroom vanity. Contently, she made her way toward her bed. Stopping a moment, she appreciated her lavish, faux-fur Snow Lynx bedding that she had found to enhance the winter season. It was complete with pillows of every shape and size for the geometrically minded, of which she was. Onward, she seemingly floated toward her bed and turned to take a seat at the edge of her mattress. Leaving her slippers at the edge of the sheepskin rug, she once more relished its plushness on the soles of her feet and, then lifted her knees up toward her chest. She glanced admiringly toward her vanity at her waist-high snowy pine tree, an expression of her own tastes. Embellishing her homage to nature, Arista chose a wispy, white feathered boa to cascade and spiral down the tree as well as a pompom snowball garland, both selected from the town’s craft shop. But tonight, she was especially drawn to the yellow, piercing eyes coming from beneath the frosted branches. They belonged to the mini-sized replica of a barn owl, and it closely resembled the one that frequented her own countryside property. She had chosen this little resemblance as it struck her peculiarly from a previous encounter, and every night its intense stare would stir and awe her spirit. Seemingly alive, but frozen still in the tree.
By Sherri L Dodd2 years ago in Fiction