Kitty Fermengs
Bio
I try to write a little bit of everything, from a small poem to an epic prose. I live in A constant state of denial that I am any good at what I have chosen as a profession. Give my works a read. Judge for yourself.
Stories (21/0)
Sacred Flame
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The candle, black and shimmering in the glow of its own flame, burned ever vigilantly. The door to the cabin, locked all the years prior, sat open and cracked, waiting for someone curious enough to walk through. Day and night the candle burned in the window of the abandoned cabin. Night and day the door sat open just a crack in wait for someone to come. Neither had long to wait.
By Kitty Fermengs2 years ago in Horror
A confession of Admiration
It's been 10 days since I've written a post like this one. I wrote something I loathe. So I'm writing something I wanted to. I've been thinking a lot about my missed opportunities that I passed up. I didn't understand fully what was going on. I was wrong to say no. I was wrong to turn down the offers. I didn't understand at the time what it meant for you to make them. I did mean what I said. I was attached and nothing could cause me to break that trust, as tempting as it was to do. I have never been treated with such a meaningful intensity. I want that back. I want to know where that was going. I regret not trying to make it work for the extra week you asked for. I regret not meeting again so you could ask me again. Although that one was out of my hands. Checking my schedule against yours, we would have met again in 2020 in Central Park. Maybe. I am far overdue to walk on that Park under the falling leaves. If only I could have made the right choice back then instead of taking the long way round. Then I remembered something from my school days. Letters are an important kind of communication. They connect us through words when the sound of our voices will not carry. There's been a rift since Covid that we all have felt. When I heard how the rift had affected you, I felt a sadness I was all too familiar with but was not mine to bear. I too felt those frustrations from lack of people and friends. Though not the same, it's similar enough to say I can relate to the struggle. Although, I’d wager that we share more common ground than we realize. Because of this rift, this struggle for normality, I've put my emotions in a box. I don't do well in boxes for long. boxes are for thinking. If you live inside a box, you lose your sense of you. which is what started to happen. For a moment I lost myself to the confines of the box. I couldn't see the outside or inside of the box. It was just dark. and that's when I realized I put myself under a set of rules and restrictions that were unreasonable. I resolved myself to go forward and explore what I felt for you. Instead, I boxed it up because I didn't like the possibility of being right. I'd rather be wrong because I can learn. So here I am learning that I need to let go and recycle the box I put myself in. I need to let my emotions live just as freely as I let my logic and creativity live. Even if I never get an opportunity to love you the way I feel I need to, I learned how to live because of my feelings for you. you've given me a gift without ever knowing it. I will never regret love. never. Even if nothing ever comes of it and I end up with someone else, I'll have these gifts of self-realization I would have never found on my own. So for what it's worth, Thank you for teaching me the value of free-range love.
By Kitty Fermengs2 years ago in Humans
The Wind and The Boy
In a land full of freshly cut grass and not a care, lived a young boy. He heard all around him, the trees, the babbling brooks, the birds and the other animals, but the only one the boy ever even half way listened to was the wind. The way the wind spoke to him made the boy close his eyes to fully take in the sound. The older the boy got, the more he listened to the wind. He knew of it’s anger in a raging storm. He knew of it’s love with a gentle breeze on a summer’s day. He knew of all it’s moods, from the confusion of a twisted story turned to rage, to the sweetest of kisses by the sea. Wherever the wind traveled, so did the boy. Sometimes the wind aided the boy while he voyaged, whispering sweet nothings as he sailed across the sea. Others, the boy and the wind argued, leaving him alone in an unknown land. Always, the wind would return, apologizing with a sweet kiss and enveloping the boy in it’s self. The boy continued to age and slowed, despite his efforts to catch the wind. Everyday he asked the wind to stop so they could talk together as he did with the owl or the fox. Whenever he asked, the wind vanished, it’s voice unheard in the stillness. The wind slowed one day, as if catching its breath, as the boy sat on a rock resting his weary soul. So much time had passed, that the boy was now an old man. So old, in fact, that his hair matched the color of clouds on a sunny day and his face wrinkled as he smiled in the presence of the wind. The wind circled and swayed around the boy, but his age would not allow him to dance as he spoke with the wind. His breaths slowed and became shallow, and the wind became still, only moving when the boy’s breath met the air. With a smile, the boy let out one last breath to be carried out on the wind. The wind tried to rouse the boy, desperate to put the breath back into him, even sharing some of it’s own. It was no use. The boy’s essence had moved on to the next place it would dwell, leaving his empty shell to return to the earth. The wind stood still for a long while as the empty vessel slowly disappeared into the earth. Once everything was as it was, in the land of freshly cut grass and not a care, the wind began to move once more. It spoke of a boy that chased it around the world and back home. Somewhere in that land, a little boy’s eyes were closed, listening to an the epic tale.
By Kitty Fermengs2 years ago in Fiction
Holy Duct Tape of Atenveldt
The Holy Duct Tape of Atenveldt – Cave Troll addition: The Book of Armaments, the lost chapter, verses 9 - 31. Lo, in the days of old, when the Dream was new in the minds of humanity, a wondrous discovery was made. The names of those right noble, divinely inspired gentles are deeply imbedded in the legends of the West and East Kingdoms. Their discovery, more valuable than gold or jewels, having provided devoted service was named in the much abused Latin: Taporium Ductus Sanctus, becoming known in the vernacular as Duct Tape.
By Kitty Fermengs2 years ago in Fiction
The Instincts Within
There were not always dragons in the valley. The sun illuminated this, and other titles of books as the warm sunbeam slowly extended its rays. The warmth and brightness of the light woke Yuki Beru from her nap. She set the book on her lap back in it’s space on the shelf. Stretching, she thanked the sun, like every cat person before her for thousands of generations. Prostrated, palms up, she silently prayed and showed reverence for the beam of light. Her white ears glowed pink as the sun’s rays shifted. With the sun firmly hidden behind the blossoms of the cherry tree, only a faint, pink, glow remained to light the room. Yuki lifted her head and sighed. The ringing of the gong signified the end of day. Yet another day she spent hidden. Another ringing. This time, a bell softly chimes. A summoning. Yuki stood up, straightening out the wrinkles created from a nap in the sun.
By Kitty Fermengs2 years ago in Fiction
Strawberry Fields Forever
A warm breeze swirled around the field of strawberries. It was not quite summer but, the magic of spring had long since left for the season. The bushes rustled, constricted by a lack of care. Stems threatened to release their bountiful fruit in an instant. Some did, staining the ground they grew from. Though their ripeness passed as they lay rotting on the ground, the brightness of the sun illuminated them. The berries, shimmering and shining like precious gems, sparkled in the sun’s light. That light, dimmed by clouds in some areas of the field, masked the true nature of the rotting berries. By the cover of clouds, they could be seen in a different light. The same strawberries that glistened in the afternoon sun were dulled and muted by mold and mildew. To look upon the field, you would see patches of brightly colored earth intermingled with the muted tones of decay.
By Kitty Fermengs3 years ago in Fiction
Lovesick Delusion in a letter
It feels like I haven't written one in over a month but the reality of it is, it's been a few weeks. I crave something I can't grasp. I yearn for something that isn't mine. I pine after something that might never be. I've analyzed my feelings to the point where even a computer could tell what they are. I've sorted them into categories and boxes trying to understand why they decided to settle the way they did. Why they settled on an unconditional love for someone I barely know first hand. I was trying to find the logic in the illogical ways of the heart. Every way I read the results, they always came out to you. I was already done refuting the fact that I've held feelings in my heart for 2 years. Now I have to come to terms with the idea that I own them. They are mine. These feelings I hold and want to release like a horse at the gate moments before the starting bell, they are mine to wield. All I want to do with them is bury them in the sand or toss them in the sea. Which, to be honest, feels disrespectful to both myself and you, for being the person I have feelings for. I feel separate from everyone else because of them though. I want to say that the pics from photoshoots or selfies murder me like all the others who claim to love you do, but they don't. When I see them, I smile fondly hoping for a day where my eyes grace yours again. When I listen to your music, I try to see your perspective on why it was worthy of sharing and listening on repeat. I don't want to scream till my lungs collapse and my voice fades into silence at a concert. I can't help but daydream about deep conversations about nothing in particular that make the romance last. Whenever your fans scream over attention you give them, I feel like I need to sit back in silence because I've been given more than them by just having these feelings. It forces me to analyze myself in ways I had stopped doing. I have always wanted to be a normal girl. That extends to being a fan. I've never been a normal fan of any celebrity. I've either become friends with the celebrity or I have interacted with them in such a way that it changed my standing within the fandom. Now I am convinced I was never meant to be normal. It's well-established in weird. It's only taken me 29 years to come to terms with it. This weird soul is in love, at least in a small way romantically, with you. Love is never divided, but multiplied. Your love for your fans is loves amplified by 7, always. It makes it hard for the individual to find a voice, but not impossible. Love is the answer to the question. (not really, it's 42) When my love is shared, it is amplified because I choose to share it openly. I don't deny my feelings. I don't try to hide them or ignore them. I write them down in words as best I can for the whole world to see. That's why I feel separated from the others. Not that right now matters when the world is in limbo. Right now is a girl finding too many words to say she feels weird falling in love with a person she feels she can never have. Right now is craving conversations I've had under the loving heat of a European summer.
By Kitty Fermengs3 years ago in Confessions
Boardwalk Ave
The tempered heat of the summer months slowly waned in intensity as autumn drew nearer. The change was notable on the boardwalk, where ladies and gentlemen from all walks of life and stations mingled. The day's fashions changed as slowly as the weather, with not much changing but the colors and whether one wore a light jacket in broad daylight. The conversation, however, always turned to how cold the air was compared to the day before. On a remarkably chilled day in October 1929, a father and son were taking their afternoon constitution along the boardwalk amongst the traveling salesmen.
By Kitty Fermengs3 years ago in Fiction