Kitty Fermengs
Bio
I write mainly romance stories. You will see bits of everything, as I love to romance every aspect of life.
Stories (16)
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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 Fermengs4 years ago in Horror
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 Fermengs4 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 Fermengs4 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 Fermengs4 years ago in Fiction
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 Fermengs4 years ago in Fiction
The Trout and the Swan
In the light of the moon a beautiful swan danced on the surface of the lake. Underneath, a trout was following her movements, and dancing with her in the waters below. When the dance was done, the swan thanked the trout for her wonderful evening.
By Kitty Fermengs5 years ago in Humans
Including the Kitchen Sink
The hustle of the market was nothing more than a drone so early in the morning. Paul walked around, looking at all the shops. He needed to find a good gift for his roommate before he headed home. He only had a few days left on his trip. Nothing seemed the right fit. Food was too impractical. A book was too plain. Art wasn’t his roommate’s favorite. What he liked were danger and jokes. Paul picked up and then put back on the table a snow globe, and sighing as he continued walking. He was starting to think he would never find that elusive gift. Then he came to the end of the stalls. An aging woman with bags under her eyes smiled a crookedly wry smile. Her brown hair was tied up in a messy bun.
By Kitty Fermengs5 years ago in Horror
