pty-line/>
The
Atlantropa
Articles
The
Atlantropa
Articles
A Novel
Cody Franklin
Mango Publishing
Coral Gables
Copyright © 2018 Cody Franklin
Cover & Layout Design: Jermaine Lau
Mango is an active supporter of authors’ rights to free speech and artistic expression in their books. The purpose of copyright is to encourage authors to produce exceptional works that enrich our culture and our open society. Uploading or distributing photos, scans or any content from this book without prior permission is theft of the author’s intellectual property. Please honor the author’s work as you would your own. Thank you in advance for respecting our authors’ rights.
For permission requests, please contact the publisher at:
Mango Publishing Group
2850 Douglas Road, 3rd Floor
Coral Gables, FL 33134 USA
For special orders, quantity sales, course adoptions and corporate sales, please email the publisher at [email protected]. For trade and wholesale sales, please contact Ingram Publisher Services at [email protected] or +1.800.509.4887.
The Atlantropa Articles: A Novel
Library of Congress Cataloging
ISBN: (print) 978-1-63353-835-1 (ebook) 978-1-63353-836-8
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018956711
BISAC category code: FIC032000 FICTION / War & Military
Printed in the United States of America
Dedicated to my mother, Julie, without whose encouragement and support, my creative endeavors never would have begun.
Table of Contents
What an absolute waste. Such a fine drink was now spilt onto the floor, mixing together with an ever-growing pool of blood from a Marian whore. Imagine that whiskey’s journey. The time and effort it must have taken to reach perfection. Brewed and bottled, then put into a crate and transported all the way south to the edge of civilization…simply to be ruined in such a callous manner. It was an expensive bottle, and I’m certain the price matched the work. I was quite looking forward to enjoying such handiwork. Yet instead, all of it is now a puddle of glass and blood at my feet.
Dumb bitch.
I sit here in this booth waiting for somebody to settle the matter. Few patrons in the bar glance over, and those who do quickly turn back to their drinks. An injured bar-whore on this ferry is not a tragedy to warrant more than a few seconds of curiosity.
She will just not stop shrieking. The shaking mess is curled up next to the table she clumsily knocked over. She’s wailing like a banshee, and it’s getting on my nerves; her good hand is clutching the Reichsmarks that she stole from my pocket.
She had sat on my lap, slipped her hand in my pocket, and taken the money inside, thinking I wouldn’t catch it. As she gripped the money, I in turn gripped her twig of a forearm and shattered that fucking thing in half. Bone is piercing out of the flesh, some red pulp is dripping onto the wooden floor…serves her right. She tried to get away and toppled everything over with her. The table…the drink…my patience.
A dark, cardinal-red river is flowing down her pale, fair skin. I was very eager to get acquainted with that body before we made landfall. She seemed like a quality girl. Blonde, an abundance of curves, smooth pearly skin. If she had made some good life decisions and weren’t a bar-whore, I figure she could have made a fine Aryan wife. Just my luck the best looking specimen
