Poem Hunter
Poems
Jordan And The Devil
NR (1992-Forever / Akron, Ohio)

Jordan And The Devil

Poem By Nick Rohner

Preface: I know this is poemhunter and this work isn't a poem but i wrote it for a class an i wanted to post it for everyone. Enjoy(i hope)

I was a normal man, living a normal life. I enjoyed listening to rock music while I worked. On Sundays I would give God his dues and I strived for happiness. Happiness hasn’t found me so easily recently. The best way to describe my life is to compare it to the rain, I welcome it’s refreshing, new life as much as I despise its darkness. My rain hasn’t been a light drizzle, though, more like a harsh hurricane. The howling winds have ripped through me leaving deep scares. The flying debris has stayed with me and with every one of these storms I feel myself changing. I am becoming more and more weighed down and beaten; broken.
Recently I have found myself drifting off like I was on a raft, caught in a strong current. I feel like I space out, loose all touch with the world. I create a new world, my world. In this world I am the puppet master, I can decide who stays and who goes, what I keep and what I leave behind me. Happiness is found more simply in this world I control. This euphoria doesn’t last long; soon it is back to my small town in Kentucky. It's back to my broken life of despair.
Sometimes while shaving or brushing my teeth, I lose track of what I am doing and I stare, for what seems like hours, at me. My eyes staring back at me. The feeling is indescribable. It’s like I’m not there, I am nowhere. I don’t exist. I feel like a ghost that just found out he is dead.
It wasn’t always rain, there was sunshine once. I look back on the sun like it was a dream; I can remember every detail and truly feel the warmth but can never return to it.
The storms were started by one fateful day that led on into the life I live now. I was working at my go nowhere job, as a mechanic at a small transmission shop on the edge of town. That day I met a man that would change my life forever. I didn’t know what brought this well dressed man to my small nowhere town and I don’t think I will ever know, nor do I think I will ever want to. This imposing figure of a man walked confidently up to the truck I was working on and said in his booming voice,
“Mr. Wellshire? ”
I grunted in reply, he seemed to know what that meant.
He continued, “I have a few questions to ask”
“Sir” I interjected, “Unless you have a badge, I will not be answering any of your questions Mr.”
“Mr. Branson” He completed my sentence as he stretched out his hand to shake mine. I didn’t even take the time to wipe the grease off my hand before I shook his hand.
“Well, Mr. Branson, ” I continued, “Unless you have a badge, I won’t be answering any of your questions and I suggest you be on your way.”
He shrugged, turned on his heel and left me alone; for that day at least.
This man, this Mr. Branson, began to pop up around town quite often now. I would see him when I went for groceries, he would wait for me outside of church, like a stalker, though I never feared his presence, I should have feared him. I found it strange that this man seemed to dedicate his life to watching me, a simple mechanic, never done anything to anyone.
About a week past, then, finally, I could no longer take it. He was constantly following me, always there. It was becoming more and more difficult to shake him. It was becoming hard to sleep. I was beginning to fear him, his influence. I was paranoid always looking over my shoulder, looking for a man I was certain would be there. Anytime I stared at me I could feel his presence rush over me, like a warm but unwelcomed hug.
In a fit of rage I ran up to him one day, “What, what do you want from me? ” I demanded.
“I knew you would turn to me, ” he said, “I knew you would come to me.”
“Why do you follow me? ” I implored in as harsh a tone I could permit myself to use. He stared back with the same look I have grown to know all too well this past week. “Leave me be! ” I growled.
“Do you truly want me gone? ” he remarked rhetorically.
He continued, “Do you not know I can help you get out of this small town? ”
I snapped back, “Oh, How exactly do you propose to do that? ”
“All I require is one small task” He said, “I need you to collect something for me, well someone.” He began to chuckle, either amused by my rage or by what he had just said.
He gave me a piece of paper with a name and address written on it: Jordan 1600 Leamer Street. Apartment 4B.
He turned and walked away as he did that day at my work.
“How will you know if I have ‘collected’ him or not? ” I yelled as he left.
He replied calmly without even turning around, “I will know.”
Three days passed by, I hadn’t seen my mysterious friend since he gave me the paper. It was a relief but also I felt strange, like something wasn’t right. It was a hot Thursday evening when I finally decided to pass by the address on the paper. I found a relatively small apartment building. There could have only been a few people living there. The apartments looked well kept; I was, after all, in the richer part of town. I strange feeling rushed over me, I rushed home. I vowed to myself I would not go back there, whatever was there was not for me.
For several days, despite my vow, I found myself passing by, almost like I wasn’t in control of my actions until I would arrive there. When I would awake from my trance I would rush home and lock myself in.
I began to grow increasingly sick of my life, especially with the promise of a way out. Even if the promise did come from a strange man whom I did not know. I finally built up the nerve to drive to 1600 Leamer Street, apartment 4B, by my own control. This time I would go up to the apartment and see who I was after. My rapping brought a very beautiful woman to the door. Her beauty surpassed words. I was instantly caught by her spell, her loveliness. I inquired about her boyfriend, Jordan. She looked back at me puzzled so I explained the man and what he had been doing and what he had asked of me.
To all of this she replied, “I am Jordan, and this man you speak of is no man, he is the dark one, the devil. I have made a deal with him that I no longer want a part of; he has sent you to collect me in promise of what? What deal have you made with him? ”
I replied, “He has offered me a way out of here, out of this dead beat town I despise so much.”
“Go, ” She demanded, “Leave, forget him and his empty promises, it may already be too late.”
I wanted to heed what she was saying, I wanted to believe her but something forced my hand. I rushed through the door. I beat her until she stopped fighting back. The next thing I remember was I had her in the bed of my decrepit ford pickup truck. I turned the radio to my favorite rock station to chase the thoughts from my head, thoughts of what I had done. I pulled into my driveway and dragged my new problem into my house. Waiting for me was my friend, he knew, like he said. I began to believe what Jordan had told me. How could I have done this to such a beautiful girl, an angel?
“Trust me she is no angel” Mr. Branson said nonchalantly.
I was in shock of what I had done; I almost didn’t realize that he responded to what I said in my thoughts.
“I thought you weren’t going to go through with it. I helped you along a bit though. You worked brilliantly.” Mr. Branson added.
“I did not do anything, ” I said in rage as the events of the day rushed into my mind, “it was you. You are the devil, Jordan told me everything. Leave my house, leave me, leave her, and find a new victim! ”
He chuckled “So you are on to me are you? I did not hide from you who I was, if you would have taken time for me, instead of being wrapped up in your own life, you would have known sooner. A deal is a deal. You cannot blame anything on me.”
“The Deal is not done! ” I yelled as I grabbed Jordan and ran for the door.
Jordan melted in my hands; she turned to dust and was gone. I dropped to my knees in despair there was no changing what I had done, I had made a deal with the devil.
“I will see you again when your number comes up as hers did.” The devil remarked as he vanished from my house.
There I was left alone, in my silent house; in my silent go nowhere town in Kentucky. In pursuit of an escape I had created something I could never escape. The deal was done, no going back. The devil never got me out of the little town; he never even got me a better job. I think it’s better that he hasn’t held up his end.
After that night is when the storms began. I can no longer listen to rock music; it brings back the memory of Jordan’s face begging me to leave. I still go to church on Sundays and ask God for forgiveness, though I feel like a hypocrite. Here I am, my entire life destroyed by a small portion of it. I sit, dead and broken, getting rained on, caught in hurricane after hurricane. No one to help me, to throw me a rope. I stare at the empty carcass of the man I once was, just waiting for the devil to come for me.

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