Heaven, or Nah?(A short, fictional romance)

Image from unsplash.com/Designed by Ericajean using Canva

His hands crushed mine, not tenderly, but tender in love and fiercely. The honey brown orbs that were his eyes, pierced mine as he grabbed hold of me, already feeling me slip away.

I never seen my boyfriend cry before. But I am now. It hurts like no other pain.

Everything was growing blurry…two of him, twin tearing men. His white shirt, rumpled with a few paling brown coffee stains splattered on the front, probably from rushing into to see me in my final hour.

“NANINNNNNE! Don’t you dare leave ME!” He growled, his hands no longer felt tight on mine. Was I slipping from this world to the next so soon?

I said something, I think. My lips moved, a tear raced down my cheek as my truly handsome boyfriend stared in terror.

Did not matter how often we prepped for this moment.

All the prayers and all the research of my breast cancer. Late stage, lead us here. I guess, the Final Act cuts deep.

My grip suddenly felt ghost to me. Foreign. My hold loosened on it own as Eric leaned closer to me. My family were all crowded around me, their hands touching my legs, my stomach. Praying. Weeping.

A door slammed in the distance. Another reaction to my dying.

Adin’s warm breath reached my eyelids. My heart began a lub….DUB….lub…..so achingly slow. My lungs couldn’t catch up to any natural rhythm either. The pain meds wore off long ago.

“Nanine.” He slides his hand up the side of my arm. “Don’t. You. Leave. Me. I will chase you across worlds. Remember? I will-” My poor man choked up. I gather strength enough to look into his eyes.

What I saw shocked me.

Shocked me enough to make my heart hit a few beeps.

His eyes, pupils dilated, were deep pools of black. His full lips leaned down over me and my gaze stuck to his as his hot lips landed on mine sensuously in front of everyone.

Only Adin can make me feel this way. Even with my bald head, body nothing but bones from the chemo that ravaged my body, he made me feel sexy. Alive. Always have.

His hot gaze, fierce, determined, supremely angry, swallowed me whole. I believed for a full minute that he literally could chase my soaring soul to wherever.

Our connection have always been so strong.

After the kiss, he only moved an inch from my face and ran his hand down my cheek. “I will find you.”

Suddenly, I couldn’t chase air. My heart’s rhythm, a normal drum in my chest, ceased it’s beat.

I can’t! I can’t breathe! My heart won’t tick!


The room, Adin, my family their echoes of pain sounded so far away. I mentally clawed for life. Clawed for it.

Adin’s face of anguish, his honey eyes were the last things I saw before complete darkness overtook me.


My lips were kissing something wet and very cool. Smooth.

My eyes were drawn so tight, they felt like lead at this point and I was afraid to open them. My memory slipped from me. Where am I ?

I risked opening my eyes slowly, shocked at the clarity without my glasses. In clear, HD panoramic view, there were lush trees and bushes everywhere, birds chirping.

Some cherry blossoms, floated by me and landed near my face. My face was hovering above clear, beautiful liquid, too amazing to just call water.

My body felt so…clean and lightweight.

Staring at my reflection, I was shocked my skin seemed to glow whereas it was usually pale. It had a hint of gold to it, but the ripples in the water from my movement caused my shimmery glow to vanish.

I finally pushed myself up and on the bank, startling a small squirrel prancing around, chasing its own tail.

The squirrel seemed more orange than brown.

Where am I?

“Nanine Bijou.”

A deeply male, familiar voice made my heart race. I look down at my slightly sun kissed skin and was terrified at how I could see through hands, as though through a veil.

The male approached me.

He was as naked as I am. Shimmering like me. Barely solid, barely ghost.

Oddly familiar too.

His eyes were large, his body designed and perfected in some lab probably and his lips had to be fashioned in supreme love by God himself. I felt nervous, giddy, confused.

He approached me but kept a safe enough distance. “Welcome home, Nanine.”


He reached out to me with his hand. Feeling lost and so utterly confused, even with all the beauty surrounding me, I take his large hand.

“I told you I would chase you from one world to the next.”

Familiar words. Familiar face and lips. Those eyes.

Why did they look so familiar?

Why do I feel…connected to him somehow?


Stay tuned this week for the short conclusion to this love story!

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Thank you!

©2017Ericajean. All Rights Reserved.


Exploring Foreshadowing, She Doesn’t Know About a Traitorous Heart Yet

Today’s Prompt: Write a post inspired by a real-world conversation.


 There is a catch in her voice. I hear it from behind my bathroom walls. It is unmistakable that she is crying and then the slam of a door and the loud screech of tires from her driveway…



A few hours later, I stand behind my cash register and I have a long line. My heels hurt, my back aches and I can’t believe the assault that the hot crispy chicken sandwich has on my nostrils. The lucky customer I hand the change back to is about to tear open the silver foil packet and chomp into the chicken when I hear that familiar voice again.

“You said you were leaving her!” The voice was more a roar than actual speech.

My hand freezes over the register as I turn slowly to my left. The chicken customer dashes out the exit.

I notice it is such a beautiful day. The sun literally spreads gold dust over everyone’s vehicle making it look richer than before and a few couples walk barefoot to the store.

Image of Caffe Casa found on flickr.com

“Can you believe that woman?” A white woman with short brunette hair said in front of me. She holds a cute, small child in her arms.

But it doesn’t end.

I see where she is looking.

A tall, dark woman with long braids and the tiniest jean shorts on ever, has her hands on her hips and the man is muscular, clean shaven and has on sunglasses. He is the color of sand.

Even his voice is gritty when he says, “I told you I ain’t leaving family for no ho! You knew the deets, woman.”

My heart triples as I quickly ring up the lady with the baby. Her eyes are as round as saucers. The baby is sucking harder on her small, pink pacifier. The child is too young to understand matters of a traitorous heart yet…

Managers are just as clueless as we are and honestly want the good show to continue unfolding before us.

The dark woman’s hands fall to her sides. Realization must have hit.

“Hey! I said I want two Marlboro lights and some lighters ma’am.” I bite the inside of my lip as I rush to grab the cancer sticks and hand them to the impatient man with the long pick handing from yellow teeth.

I ring him up in record time too, but we are all hoping the couple will continue their argument inside.

But they storm off outside where it is sunny and gold.

And now it is time for me to let you know that only the morning foreshadowing actually happened.


Man, Women, and a Red Sweater: Exploring Point of Views

Day Nine: Point of View

Today’s Prompt: A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.


I know I didn’t just cross Mrs. Steven’s path.

The grandmother of my ex.

After five years and all this time, why is the woman here? Out of all places! I clench my fists and try not to let Lettie know something is wrong.

But she knows.

She was born into a family of psychics and empaths  and from the moment I spotted Mrs. Stevens, her hands squeezed mine, like she does her little puddy ball when we are watching Law and Order.

And then I can’t help it. The images blob before me.

Beautiful Linda. My Linda. Her stomach round and stretched hard, a cocoon for our first child. A seed we made together. It would have been our first…but then.


The fatal car crash where I survived and they did. Not.

Mrs. Stevens is still knitting. Probably thinking we are just your normal park walkers in love and everything is right as rain.

Then the cloud burst from behind my eyes…



“Aren’t you going to speak to her?” I ask John. His palms are sweating and are those…those. “John. Are you crying?” I whisper.

“Let’s go over here for a minute,” I let him walk me in the opposite direction of the older, pale woman with white hair. Her fingers work quick magic on that little red sweater.

“There is something I haven’t told you.”

I am quiet.

John wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. I’ve known him a year but I never seen him shed a tear. Although at times while we’re at the beach. At home in our garden. Or when I ask him about starting a family, he’ll get this far away look and I fell alone…

And then those dreams I have of him with red hair and green eyes and there are children around him…

“I do know her. Well, she is the grandmother of my- my ex.”


Then John does something even I could not have predicted. He pulls out a stray cigarette and lighter and lights the end of it. “Linda was my girlfriend. I was going to marry her.” He takes a long drag on the cigarette.

“Okay,” I touch his hand. “Did something happen?”

His chocolate eyes peer into mine. “Yeah. She died. And our baby did too.”

I place a hand over my heart. I did not know! He told me he never wanted children. I guess I see why. But what horror! Now my eyes are misting.

We walk over to the old woman…


The Old Woman

Not now. Not that cologne. It can’t be! Only that mix of sweat and cologne and soap would make me remember…

“Kristina? Kristina Stevens?” John comes over to me looking as handsome as always. His eyes are sad and there is a young lady by his side. A raven haired beauty with cerulean eyes. Her hand is wrapped up in John’s.

I stand up and lay my work down. The boy would be five now. Five…

John grabs me up and hugs me tight. The girl stays behind and watches us, but she is not my Linda. I am sorry to have mean thoughts. And I know it is five years now, but I sense he still cares for my daughter.

How silly is that!

I know she is not with us.

“It has been long, Mrs. Stevens.”

“Call me mom or grandma, son. Please.” I kiss his cheeks and acknowledge his mate with a small nod. She waves.

We chat very little. About safe topics: weather, my knitting, and his girlfriend’s job as an LPN at the local hospital.

We both shiver at the letter L.

Yeah, we miss Linda.

“If Earth Was Void of Form and Spirit”

Image source: Everystockphoto.com/Orca Splash by Peter Graham

This post is in response to Writing 101 Day 7 Challenge: Write a post based on the contrast between two things — whether people, objects, emotions, places, or something else.

“You salty, crass, fake monk of the globe!”

“You mimic a strong tower but you are weak, brittle- they rape you too.”

Land became silent.

“If I stay back…just a little, will you tell them to come back home?” Water said.

Land, shrugged, causing a ripple among trees in Africa, sway of palm trees in Florida. “Maybe. You’ve changed over the years.”

“I do cherish them. Give them back to me and I will recede. Only when the moon serenades me will I dance with you and cover you. Deal?”

Land huffed before replying: “Didn’t know you could bargain.”

Water said, “I learn very quickly. Know what else I can do?”

“Spill it.”

“My thoughts are hurricanes and monsoons-loud, but I am quiet enough to inspire haiku and even Scripture. I am not completely bad.”

“You never were bad, water.” Land sighed. “You are just…too much. You are what. 75% of this rock and who knows? Your parts are floating elsewhere in the galaxy. So am I, but, you know, here you are overtaking me.”

“Remember the pact?”


“The pact. There will never be any more worldwide floods.” Water paused. “I will not drown you.”

“Alright alright.” Land, with old age and many, many years tacked on suddenly yawned, stretched its knuckles, straits and islands- his knuckles hands and arms.

And with Water pulling back, not a lot but just enough for earth to convert to its original form:

Water whispers, “I will still overtake you.”

Earth. Void of form and spirit…

Day Five, Writing 101: A Brief Warning from My Kind

I see our star and it is the color of a Minneola orange and its sister stars are like sparkling white hot diamonds

Zero gravity, inside a spaceship, first time feeling light(unlike my earth weight), I float up to white space look down onto “desk space” with tubes and I do an air split having fun, and from my peripheral vision I see-

A piece of white notebook paper floating like square feather. Big blue letters …such an oxymoron how it dances and billows undulating slowly in the middle like a belly dancer before delivering hardcore words of warning:

SMACK- right in my face.


*This is in response to Day 5 Writing 101: Be Brief. Thank you!

Post edit: Now, the prompt said we are to want to return the letter, in this case I am unsure if the letter of warning was meant for the protagonist or the last astronaut…IDK.

Why New Writers Need Rules for Creativity

Rules and More RulesI am not a fan of rules. Who is? I like doing what I want to do.

But when it comes to creative writing, I’d like to have some rules and if you are new to writing at all whether it be research papers, online pieces , poetry or novels you’d be prudent to consult some reference materials or get taught the proper way of doing things.

That way your brain will be forced to be ultra creative and you will eventually find awesome ways to bend or break the rules.

Recently I read an article on CreateSpace by Richard Ridley on “Formulaic Writing”(You would have to log in to CreateSpace and read the forums to view the page). He writes,

For example, if you’re writing horror or romance or mystery or any genre fiction, there are certain elements that are usually tied to those types of stories. They aren’t hard-and-fast rules. You won’t be kicked out of the genre club if you don’t follow the rules, but following those rules can help you be more creative and provide helpful guideposts for mapping out your story.

When writing poetry I would get inspired and jot down some items and then try to mix it in the soup of literary craft and whatever I got-that’s what I went with. But for my book, “Sea of Iron Hands” I actually worked on some poetic exercises while adding my own experience to the formula and was amazed at what I found.

Creative fiction can work the same way. In fact the Story Engineering book by Larry Brooks was such a blessing to me because he emphasizes that you can write a book if you know some of the formulas most writers use without even realizing it(hope this encourages you!)

And if you want to know the “physics” of a story, making it the best you can, try Brooks’s Story Physics: Harnessing the Underlying Forces of Storytelling(Jun 18 2013) with nearly 30 five star reviews from Amazon!