At the Station on a Cold Evening

A Story by emipoemi

While standing in the subway station,

The clock struck eight-o-three,

And fear as time ticked slowly on

Increased its hold on me.

I looked around the emptiness,

And wondered why I came.

The call I got could possibly

Have been some prankster’s game.

The icy cold blew through my skin,

I shivered where I stood.

Then saw him from the tunnel come,

His face behind a hood.

He stately stood amidst the gloom,

As though he were in prayer-

His hands were laced, his head was bowed,

His breath slipped through the air.

I yearned for answers, yet could not

For all my efforts speak.

The cold and fear grew so intense,

I could not even squeak.

I wished that I had never come;

I wished that I could flee!

I could not bear to think of what

Could soon become of me!

He shifted, then, to stare at me

With eyes that glowed blood red,

And in a cold and raspy voice

Said ‘I can raise the dead.

Compose thyself, and mark me well:

I merely with my hand

Can make the dead rise from their graves,

And live once more on land.

I thus can raise thy wife and babes-

Thy loving family.

Declare I may, and thou shalt see

Thy woe convert to glee.

Yet in return I ask a fee:

Thy soul, thy living breath.

Once three and thirteen years elapse,

Thy life shall turn to death.’

I reminisced about the day

We swerved into a crash,

Which somehow led to ev’ryone

Regarding me as trash.

I didn’t want to die in gloom

And even less in sin.

Yet wanting all this pact would bring,

I said: ‘Agreed. Begin.’

-EDP

© 2017 emipoemi

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Reviews

Kathy Van Kurin

'At the Station on a Cold Evening'
emThipoemi,
The stage is set for suspense with the title. This is like the first chapter in a suspenseful story. I found myself thinking; "I wonder if the person whom has made such a pact with this red eyed evil will have found a way to outwit the final decision." Poetry in a story. Really nice.
Blessings,
Kathy