Jack Wayne Arnett
Bio
I enjoy writing in many genres. My favorite is horror, but I also enjoy poetry, romance and military life. I love the challenge of writing outside my comfort zone as a challenge. I live in Riverside, California and have 5 daughters.
Stories (26)
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A legacy for the future
I took on a project some years back, writing a journal of sorts about everyone who has had an impact on my life. It was about stories, memories and how they made me who I am. For better or worse, even your enemies make you a stronger person and those you love make you a better person for the most part. Perhaps someone you are close to is dragging you down, and you don't realize it yet. I started off with my family, since they were there in the beginning and worked my way forward chronologically. Each one had a unique story and impact which made me who I am today.
By Jack Wayne Arnett3 years ago in Journal
Forgotten
Shuffling feet go down the busy street. Never look up, there's no one to meet. Tear down these places I haunt with a gaze for shelter in these nameless streets. Buildings reach to heaven but I am denied. I trample the dust of this place, No love as I'm blown like the wind. Horrors of the days now long gone still live in me, the voices echo through time give no mercy. I stay awake days on end to keep the dreams away, in the end sanity goes astray. If just one soul would give me a little love I might believe again. Love is like the shining stars above, see it in the night but so very far away. Stars are like a nail in a vail just to show that love will never prevail. Broken hearted man, broken from the core who will be there when there is nothing more. Take from me now the hands that build, take it from me now these hands that sinned. No one alive, sees me running scared. Face my demon on these streets, wrestle him in fires deep. His nails cut and screams are of rage. Defeat I am beat, lay there dead in the street. An angel cries, and a man of wealth scurries by. Discarded man, is forgotten like the blowing desert sand. No one will be sad, no one will care. So many like me, so many blowing away like sand dunes across these nameless streets. Look them in the eye next time you see one, give a smile, a handshake or even some hope. One day, you too could be me. One day you will be forgotten, in the ground and rotten. Make one day just a little less forgotten.
By Jack Wayne Arnett5 years ago in Poets
Compelled Chapter 2
Arnettsville (Yukon), West Virginia 1861 Sunset on that bone chilling evening in mid January, seemed nothing out of the dull mundane. The sky alight in hues of deep purples and red as the scattered clouds moved across the hills in a slow deliberate pace. I had retired to the porch after a day of hunting with my rather ugly hound Chester. He may be long in the tooth but still enjoys a good chase now and then. The day rewarded a couple hares that my wife Malinda joyously prepared for myself, 4 children and Servant. I had only been home a few days and was already beginning to feel back at ease. Some months ago, I had been forced to join the Confederate army, which I had no business being a part of. I had to provide for my family, and my children were not quite old enough to take care of the ranch just yet. I had refused to join, and the Rebs decided it best to force me and several others down to Little Rock to be incarcerated until we were properly motivated to enlist. As luck would have it, we overpowered our gracious escorts and escaped. All going their own ways. We took all records of our capture and hid the bodies carefully. No proof or signs that we ever were transported. At least that's what we believed.
By Jack Wayne Arnett5 years ago in Horror
Release of Reason
Some bizarre test, the line of what is sane and insane is broken without a pause. A moment in memory takes flight and the measure of life lays on the line. Seething anger grows over time and the balance is on the line. Forever dwells in that moment, hope remains unseen. Pushed to the brink, it all falls apart. Life no longer has meaning and sanity shatters. Her life in the monsters hands pleads but his mind splinters. What measure of a man has he become. Just a turning point in time, nothing predictable. Her life wanes as his breaks. His eyes meets hers as the grey of lifelessness sets in. Splintered again, the agony of what he's done crushes his heart and very soul. He pleads with her to come back. His senses corrupt and reason released, her breath has ceased. Cries of remorse, he cannot reverse his course. He draws a blade from the drawer, he cuts. Soon he too, is never more. Can nothing undo his release of reason. Falls to the floor like the passing season. What evils can form is beyond all reason.
By Jack Wayne Arnett5 years ago in Poets
