Anthology 2015

By Covington Writers Group

In 2015, the Covington Writers Group celebrated its first anniversary and the city of Covington celebrated its 200th.  Anthology 2015 is a collection of short stories about anniversaries or are set in Covington. This book features works by CWG members: James Ballard, Florence Benson, Jenny Breeden, Leslie Bush, Mikey Chlanda, Patti Kay Emerson, Jillian Gross, Holly Kemble, and Alvena Stanfield.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covington Writers Group
• Release date: Oct 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519997173

Book preview

Covington Writers Group Anthology 2015

October 2015

Copyright ©2015 Covington Writers Group, Inc.

Cover Illustration Copyright © Covington Writers Group, Inc.

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by an information storage and retrieval system – except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web – without the expressed permission from the publisher.

All characters in the individual works contained within this book are the inventions of the authors, have no existence in reality, and bear no relation in any manner to any persons living or deceased with the same name or names, unless specifically stated. They were not inspired by any individuals known or unknown to the authors, and all incidents described herein are purely the imagination of the author, except as noted by the author.

Each author retains the copyright of their original work and has granted permission to the Covington Writers Group, Inc. to include their edited work in this book.

Published by Covington Writers Group, Inc.

INTRODUCTION

––––––––

2015 was a milestone year: the Covington Writers Group celebrated its first anniversary in February while the City of Covington celebrated its 200th year. Many of the stories included in this anthology are set in Covington and some are about anniversaries. We hope you enjoy our stroll down memory lane. The CWG members would like to express their heartfelt thanks to the following:

––––––––

●  Family and friends, for allowing us to spend some of our time away from them while we write, share our work at group meetings and grow as writers. Their love and sacrifices mean the world to us as we strive for success.

●  John Graham and the Covington staff of the Kenton County Public Library, for providing our meeting place on the first and third Saturday mornings each month, where we meet and share our stories and writing ideas in a comfortable, state-of-the-art facility. 

––––––––

●  The staff at Zola Pub and Grill in MainStrasse Village, for providing us with their spacious second floor dining area on the second and fourth Saturday evenings each month so we can socialize and critique stories in a friendly environment.

DEDICATION

––––––––

In December 2014, the Covington Writers Group lost one of its members, Liz Shipwash. For our Anthology 2014, Liz contributed some of her poetry. Her death came as a shock and she is missed by all who knew her. The following poem was written in her memory.

Time

By Jenny Breeden

––––––––

Seconds become minutes, tick tock.

Time does not slow down to let you

Enjoy happy events longer.

––––––––

Minutes add to hours, tick tock.

Nor does it speed up to get you

Through the sorrows any faster.

––––––––

Hours turn into days, tick tock.

It marches forward to warn you

Not to put things off ‘til later.

––––––––

Days quickly change to years, tick tock.

As long as the clock still ticks, you

Have time to make your life better.

James Ballard

––––––––

About the Author

––––––––

James Ballard was born and raised in Covington, KY. He has been writing for a little over ten years, starting when he was in middle school and polishing what he knew when he entered high school. He enjoys fictional stories, mainly fantasy but he enjoys non-fictional stories as well, especially historical ones. Since he likes to switch genres when he writes, he tends to like most genres. However one he writes often and he always finds interesting is modern stories with fantasy and mystery aspects. There’s nothing like a good mystery novel with just the right twist at the right time. He has multiple stories written, more for personal enjoyment but none that have ever been published, until now. He wants to say Thanks for the taking the time to read this story. Have a good day.

Fragile Differences

––––––––

Prologue

––––––––

Everything started with a simple desire I had to do something for the community and my family. When Germany became our enemy during the war, President Wilson ordered anyone of German descent to prove their loyalty to our side. One of the ways was turning in any firearms they had and I was surprised to see some of my neighbors going to the police to have their fingerprints and photos taken.

I had seen the posters plastered on the walls speaking of our foreign enemies. I knew they were close to home, but I didn’t realize how close they truly were until now. Since then, I put everything I could into the war effort, especially after my older brother ended up being shipped off to fight the good fight. I bought war bonds and did what I could with the Red Cross, but I wanted to do more.

A close friend of mine came to me and told me of the Citizens’ Patriotic League, and he asked me to join them in keeping our community safe from German Immigrants. It was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up, so I agreed to help him.

I thought I was doing good work, keeping my community safe from our enemies so close to home. I was proud to be a part of something that let me protect those dear to me, but within a few days, I started to question the true purpose of our group. 

While riding in one of our comrade’s automobiles, we made our way from Covington to Erlanger in the midst of the storm. I stared out of the vehicle, watching as the heavy rain hit against the other cars and slid down the windows. The sky was completely black and the occasional flash of lightning provided the only real illumination for the neighborhood.

My heart beat rapidly in my chest and I found it hard to swallow as we got closer to our destination. When the church came in sight, I held my stomach and listened quietly to my friend as he rubbed his hands together next to me.

You ready to go?

With a reluctant nod, I responded as we slowly came to a stop. I exited the door following the rest of the men towards the church, putting on the coldest expression I could muster.

I watched as the others dragged the reverend of the church outside, throwing him down on his porch and surrounded him. They yelled all manners of cruel things at the man as he shook uncontrollably, more out of fear then the coldness brought by the storm. That man’s horrified face still echoes in my mind.

They screamed at him, telling him he had betrayed our country; they ignored his pleadings, but I can’t get the imagery out of my head no matter how hard I try to push it back.

I wanted to put the matter behind me, wanted to believe that he had turned his back on his country, but when I saw the previous night’s event in the paper, and how they spoke so easily of how he cowered before us, I felt this pain in my chest recalling the event. I pushed it down, determined to believe I was doing the right thing, the man had been a traitor and we did what was necessary.

I think back to how foolish I was and I feel no end of shame at all my actions. If it wasn’t for one of those supposed traitors, I wouldn’t have realized my mistake.

Chapter 1

––––––––

It was the day after the event at the church and I was making my way to our meeting place on Sixth Street and Madison. Charlie, the man who got me involved with the League in the first place, was one of the original members. The Citizen Patriotic League had been formed a little over a year ago, about three years after the war had started.

Since my family had moved to Covington a few months ago, I only recently realized their activities. I joined in April of their second year. Now, a few months later, I regretted ever being involved with these men. I believed they were good people in their own right, but the things we did to some of the men they hurt still didn’t sit well with me. I have to force myself not to think about it even today.

While making my way towards our regular meeting place, I encountered a young man who wore a grey flat cap, his blond hair peeking out from under it. He wore a shirt without a collar, black baggy trousers, cut off at the ankles and black shoes. In any other situation, I’d have walked past him with a small greeting, as he looked no different from any other person I saw on the street. His outfit was even similar to my own, though I chose not to wear a hat that day. However, I paused as I saw him reach up and without a moment’s hesitation, rip down a propaganda poster for the war, promptly spitting on it afterwards.

Our eyes met after his clearly unpatriotic display and he sprinted away from me. I gave chase, following him into the dark alley as I ran after him. I had sought to join the war effort with my brother, so I was no stranger to physical activities. Due to my age at the time, I wasn’t accepted but that didn’t stop me from keeping my body in peak condition and I was thankful for it as I turned a corner, closing the distance between myself and the young man.

He turned into another ally, knocking over a trash can to deter me but I leapt over it. Lowering my body, I leapt again and slammed into him, sending the two of us crashing into nearby garbage. Before he could move, I grabbed his wrists and pinned him to the ground, kneeling astride him to keep him from moving.

I was beyond anger at his actions and before my mind could stop me, I raised my fist into the air. But before I could satisfy my anger with unnecessary violence, I froze. I had knocked the man’s hat off, revealing his long blond hair tied in a bun on the top of his head. I had never seen a man with long hair, even my own black hair grew no further than the top of my neck, but it was the two protrusions coming off his chest that forced a realization into my head.

You’re a woman.

I was pushed off immediately after my anger was replaced with confusion and a bit of embarrassment. In silence, I watched the strange person in front of me stand up and grab her cap. I stood myself, still trying to figure out what was happening. Putting her cap back on her head, she made a motion with her finger which meant she wanted me to turn around. I obliged her, since I wasn’t sure what else to do at the moment.

After a bit of rustling, she said, you can turn back around now. Once I did, she had returned to looking like the young man I had seen moments before. Reaching up, she pulled on the tip of her cap, watching me for a moment.

What is your name? she asked me.

Her bright blue eyes bore into me and I felt a strange chill run through me, there was no need for me to answer her question, but her sharp voice cut through me and I felt a strange reason to comply.

When I told her my name, I noticed her eyes narrow for a brief moment, but it faded quickly and she extended her hand to me.

Emma, but while I’m like, this Simon will suffice.

Shaking her hand, which to my surprise was rough, Emma held it for an uneasy minute before released it and crossed her arms over her chest. Even today I can’t forget the words she spoke to me in that dank alley, staring at me with a determination I had never seen in a woman before.

It seems you’re staring at a Hun, what’re you going to do now?  

I shook a bit as she referred to herself in such a manner, I found myself hesitate in response which she seemed to be waiting for as she spoke when I turned my gaze from her.

You seemed more than willing to hit me when you thought I was a man. Nothing’s stopping you from doing it now. I’m a ‘traitor’ so treat me as such.

I’m not going to hit you.

The words felt strange coming from my mouth but I could only speak the truth at that moment.  I felt like a child being belittled by their parent, and it was embarrassing to be forced into such a position but all desire to strike her had left me and I felt if I lied she’d call me on it.

You’re a member of the League correct? Emma said, drawing my attention back to her. From what I hear, you make a habit of harassing those not considered patriots. Why are you hesitating; you hurt the Reverend yesterday, didn’t you?

We didn’t hurt him.

Ah, like you didn’t hurt Mr. Flynn right? Nope, just whipped him until he bled, but something like that wouldn’t hurt.

I didn’t hurt him! I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but stare.

That’s almost as bad as actually hitting him. Why didn’t you do anything with your friends?

It didn’t feel right...we just yelled at the others. I didn’t like that we did something like that.

Emma stared at me for a moment and pulling her hat down slightly, I saw a faint smile form on the edges of her thin lips. Raising her head, she walked past me, patting me on the shoulder.

I like that answer, come with me.

I turned to see her stop at the edge of the alley, she glanced back at me and I questioned why I was going along with all of this, why I didn’t walk away. This woman not only dressed as a man, but she had spit on the war effort and prodded me like a child, yet I felt inclined to follow, perhaps I was a mad or perhaps curiosity controlled my steps that day.

I didn’t realize it until much later but what I felt then was awe, at a woman who showed more will then the men I had spent time with the day before.

––––––––

Chapter 2

––––––––

It suffices to say that without Emma, I wouldn’t be able to speak of my experiences. From what time we did spend together, I found out very little initially. She had a German father and an American mother. Her father was a journalist and ended up interviewing his future wife during one of his