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 (25/0)
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 Arnettabout a year 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 Arnett4 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 Arnett4 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 Arnett4 years ago in Poets
The Regency
Lost in the warm winds and dust blowing across the old fields of gold as single light called to my tired eyes. A nice surprise and no alibi to meet my weary mind. Call to me oh wayward spirits of days so far gone, take me in I'll heed your call. A gentle tap I gave the door. Silence fell as the door creaked open. Candle lit aroma filled my senses as a solemn slender figure filled the way. Her pale lit face crept a struggled smile as she bid me welcome. One soul this evening she beckoned? Shall I take your belonging to your room sir? Awe struck that I seemed to be expected, for sometime it felt. From the shadows stepped tall slender man whos eyes seemed to sink deep into his skull as he passed me by with a musty breeze. He took my only bag and vanished hence the shadows he came. Walk with me she beckoned as she took lead to a old oak desk. Tis a special night tonight she gleemed behind a sinister smile. Not to often we have visitors these days. Its been... Well since 1969 last I recall. That's 50 years ago this very day. The day our door was visited by a very special guest who bestowed quite a special gift unto us. She turned a old dusty guest book to me and held out a plume pen, please check in and we'll get the celebration underway she grinned. She pulled out from the lower parts of the old desk a single record disk and placed the platter. The crackling and popping of the music began to fill the air. An old song I recalled from my youth. All along the watchtower played as I began to slowly sign, my mind began to spin. As the last letter printed in the book my mind felt fraught in agony and regret. Welcome to Regency Arms a larger than life figure spoke down to me from the balcony now filled with at least 50 new faces. My mind began to flee, scared of what had become. Why does this place frighten me I so implored! My heart raced and the sounds of welcomes, music and applause filled the air. I wanted so to run. I wanted to escape. I moved to the door and the tall figure stepped in my path. Checking out so soon sir? Several people parted and left open the way. You can of course check out sir. But you may never leave. Your soul calls you here. Cant you hear them calling to you so far away? My mind went places to run. I screamed to escape and I moved to the door, through the portal I hit the floor. Dust fill the air I stood back up. There I was on the lonesome road a sight so strangely familiar. The single beacon called me once again. Darkness surrounds and madness abounds. I find my calling again, and return to that dark beacon of sin and madness. Memory fades as new day dawns, forever more.
By Jack Wayne Arnett4 years ago in Poets
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