That was pretty good. Crenshaw sure is a traitor.
That was pretty good. Crenshaw sure is a traitor.
So about a year ago, I wrote a short story for fun and posted it on Voat.
My timing was kinda shit back then, so the post was buried pretty quickly. Nevertheless, I’m reposting it here now for your entertainment pleasure. Please enjoy.
Origins of a Traitor
by Splooge
In the vast, candle-lit chamber, five shadowy figures sat in stony silence before a round table of stone, a pentagram carved in its center.
Suddenly, the ornate wooden doors burst open and a sixth figure swept in, hood pulled low, his boots clacking ominously on the cold stone floor.
"You are late, councilman."
"Apologies, there was trouble with the Gaza Strip. They attempted to resist."
"I trust our Air Force has remedied the issue?"
"Yes, of course. Our forces conducted four strikes. They shall not impede us again, at least not for some time."
"Good. Let's begin."
The hooded figure settled into his seat at the long table alongside his colleagues. A low, gravely voice emanated from the hooded figure seated in the center.
"How... much do we trust this new candidate?"
"Well," responded a nasally voice from the far end of the table, "He is goyim. That presents a double-edged sword for us. But he has a strong lust for power and craves admiration from his fellow goys. This is always something we can use."
"I think he makes an ideal candidate," interjected a raspy voice, "His father once made a bargain with us for control in the oil fields. He was and continues to be a shabbos goy. There is nothing to suggest his son will not continue on in this vein for us. What is given can be taken away."
"Very well. We shall see. He has been instructed to come before us and shall arrive shortly."
As if on cue, a timid knock was heard at the door.
"Enter!" came the cold order.
The doors creaked open and a young man in his mid-20's stepped into the chamber, making his way slowly but deliberately toward the round stone table, his eyes darting nervously around as he surveyed the silent, hooded figures before him.
"T-thank you for granting me a-an audience, Chosen Ones," the young man managed to choke out. "I am honored."
"You are aware of the bargain your father struck on your behalf at the time of your birth?"
"Y-yes my lord. I have been made aware of your involvement, and the sacrifice my mother made as well. I am grateful and... I... I wish for this arrangement to continue off... off the battlefield."
The hooded figures sat back in their chairs, considering the young man before them.
"You have been kept safe on our battlefields," one of the hooded figures spat. "You are a decorated member of the Navy SEALS. This is not enough for you, goyim?"
"It's not that my lord! I... I am considering what happens after I leave SEAL Team 3. How may I continue to serve the holy land?"
Silence. The figures turned to each other once again and after some deliberation, responded. "You may be of further use to us yet, goy. But we need to know you are truly loyal. We need you to understand that what is given... can be taken away."
A side-door in the chamber clicked open in the darkness. A small boy, about six years old, ran in with a small metal scoop clutched to his chest. Avoiding eye contact, he set the scoop on the round stone table and scampered away, his bare feet slapping softly as he left.
The young man looked at the scoop, then at the council before him. He understood, but wished he did not.
A cruel voice pierced the silence. "On your most recent deployment, you were injured by an IED. You nearly lost your right eye, but you were airlifted to safety and saved at the behest of your father's pleas."
There was no mistaking the intent of the scoop any longer. With a fearful look, the young man gazed at the hooded council, then quickly averted his eyes.
"Show us..." came the whisper. "Show us your loyalty. Show us... what is given, can be taken away."
Time had seemed to stop. Then suddenly, with a blood-curdling cry, the young man stepped forward, seized the scoop and tore his right eye from its socket.
"AUGHHHHHH!" his screams of pain echoed through the chamber. The hooded figures leaned forward, fascinated and pleased.
Whimpering and hands shaking, the man set the eye on the stone table, where the blood ran into the crevices and painted the pentagram a dark crimson. He collapsed on the floor and curled up, clutching his face.
A moment passed. The voice spoke.
"Rise, Daniel Reed Crenshaw. From this day forth, you shall be a tool for Zion. You shall join the ranks of those who serve and protect the holy land. With your tribute comes the power you crave. May your loyalty never waver, for what is given can be taken away."
And even though he was in tremendous pain, the young man could not help but smile at what was to come.
*So about a year ago, I wrote a short story for fun and posted it on Voat.*
*My timing was kinda shit back then, so the post was buried pretty quickly. Nevertheless, I’m reposting it here now for your entertainment pleasure. Please enjoy.*
#Origins of a Traitor
####by Splooge
In the vast, candle-lit chamber, five shadowy figures sat in stony silence before a round table of stone, a pentagram carved in its center.
Suddenly, the ornate wooden doors burst open and a sixth figure swept in, hood pulled low, his boots clacking ominously on the cold stone floor.
"You are late, councilman."
"Apologies, there was trouble with the Gaza Strip. They attempted to resist."
"I trust our Air Force has remedied the issue?"
"Yes, of course. Our forces conducted four strikes. They shall not impede us again, at least not for some time."
"Good. Let's begin."
The hooded figure settled into his seat at the long table alongside his colleagues. A low, gravely voice emanated from the hooded figure seated in the center.
"How... much do we trust this new candidate?"
"Well," responded a nasally voice from the far end of the table, "He is goyim. That presents a double-edged sword for us. But he has a strong lust for power and craves admiration from his fellow goys. This is always something we can use."
"I think he makes an ideal candidate," interjected a raspy voice, "His father once made a bargain with us for control in the oil fields. He was and continues to be a shabbos goy. There is nothing to suggest his son will not continue on in this vein for us. What is given can be taken away."
"Very well. We shall see. He has been instructed to come before us and shall arrive shortly."
As if on cue, a timid knock was heard at the door.
"Enter!" came the cold order.
The doors creaked open and a young man in his mid-20's stepped into the chamber, making his way slowly but deliberately toward the round stone table, his eyes darting nervously around as he surveyed the silent, hooded figures before him.
"T-thank you for granting me a-an audience, Chosen Ones," the young man managed to choke out. "I am honored."
"You are aware of the bargain your father struck on your behalf at the time of your birth?"
"Y-yes my lord. I have been made aware of your involvement, and the sacrifice my mother made as well. I am grateful and... I... I wish for this arrangement to continue off... off the battlefield."
The hooded figures sat back in their chairs, considering the young man before them.
"You have been kept safe on our battlefields," one of the hooded figures spat. "You are a decorated member of the Navy SEALS. This is not enough for you, goyim?"
"It's not that my lord! I... I am considering what happens after I leave SEAL Team 3. How may I continue to serve the holy land?"
Silence. The figures turned to each other once again and after some deliberation, responded. "You may be of further use to us yet, goy. But we need to know you are truly loyal. We need you to understand that what is given... can be taken away."
A side-door in the chamber clicked open in the darkness. A small boy, about six years old, ran in with a small metal scoop clutched to his chest. Avoiding eye contact, he set the scoop on the round stone table and scampered away, his bare feet slapping softly as he left.
The young man looked at the scoop, then at the council before him. He understood, but wished he did not.
A cruel voice pierced the silence. "On your most recent deployment, you were injured by an IED. You nearly lost your right eye, but you were airlifted to safety and saved at the behest of your father's pleas."
There was no mistaking the intent of the scoop any longer. With a fearful look, the young man gazed at the hooded council, then quickly averted his eyes.
"Show us..." came the whisper. "Show us your loyalty. Show us... what is given, can be taken away."
Time had seemed to stop. Then suddenly, with a blood-curdling cry, the young man stepped forward, seized the scoop and tore his right eye from its socket.
"AUGHHHHHH!" his screams of pain echoed through the chamber. The hooded figures leaned forward, fascinated and pleased.
Whimpering and hands shaking, the man set the eye on the stone table, where the blood ran into the crevices and painted the pentagram a dark crimson. He collapsed on the floor and curled up, clutching his face.
A moment passed. The voice spoke.
"Rise, Daniel Reed Crenshaw. From this day forth, you shall be a tool for Zion. You shall join the ranks of those who serve and protect the holy land. With your tribute comes the power you crave. May your loyalty never waver, for what is given can be taken away."
And even though he was in tremendous pain, the young man could not help but smile at what was to come.
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