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The Silent Killer

As the eyelids begin to get heavier and heavier, the quiet of the forest begins to lull you into the drifting space between a dream and reality. The floating space where you feel both worlds begin to merge and fade at the same time. Where if you but lean slightly towards one direction you will fall completely inside, and shatter the fragile balance you are hovering within. The noises of the tent could either be fabric fluttering in the wind, or could be a dragon unfurling its wings. The sleeping mat you "feel" beneath you could either be a plastic derivative or a meadow filled with gumdrops and Snozzleberries. The sound of your partner nearby could either by the snores of a tired hiker or they could be the start of a high speed chase across the Atlantic. If you but lean towards one side you would know, but instead you find peace and lightness within the in-between, within the fragility, within the calm so this is where you remain. Until the Destroyer of Worlds, the Kryptonite of Peace, the Bane of Joy, the Silent Killer find you unaware and unprepared as you hauntingly and abruptly are ripped from your haven.


Even here, in this beautiful and serene setting...

The Silent Killer lurks...


For every time you whisper its name, another sinister whisper is created somewhere in the world as it hears your call and begins its methodical path of destruction. As it permeates and spreads quickly consuming all within its soiled and stained grasp. As it encompasses the entirety of another as they choke and sputter the vileness as it enters their body, trying to make sense of this invisible killer. Even now, we hold our breath, and gently type upon this keyboard, for if we were to announce its presence, we ourselves could be lost within its spotted and smeared skeletal embrace.

Let us plainly and swiftly grasp the ounce of courage we have that remains, and say its original name, before we lose ourselves to the fear. The one that has many names, but the one true name that we all know, the TENT FART! Yes, we know a shiver just ran up your spine as well as our own, as we so boldly and blatantly gave the heft and weight to its gaseous name. We recoil even now as the memories that have been burned, buried, and scattered upon our mind our once again brought alive with feeling. There is no way out now besides through, so let us quickly fan the air aside as we all hold our breath, pinch our noses, and wade through the tainted atmosphere we now find ourselves within.

The tent fart, or as we like to call it the Silent Killer. We do not know if it is deep primal fear or sheer repression that stops hikers from talking about this, but we shall no longer be its victim. Shall no longer be paralyzed in fear, we shall step up and shine light upon the tent fart. Hikers love talking about their bowel movements when out on trail, but quickly puff aside the important conversation. The importance of talking about its devious cousin, its malicious mother, its lethal father, the roots of its venomous family tree, where it all begins, with a Tent Fart.

The noises, the smells, the pain shared pales in comparison when squatting over a cat-hole. A momentary moment that is quickly swept away as you finish and move on. Yet, when you are in your "safe space", when you are in your home, when you are laying your head down to rest, is when this sinister killer strikes.


The sun has set, the night begins, we enter the nightmare hours

The Silent Killer's hunting ground.

We breath in one last time, before the fight begins.


As you zip up the tent, and say goodnight to the outside world, you find yourself within your bubble of safety... or so you thought. Some listen to a podcast to go to sleep, some listen to nature, some chat with their partner. It does not discriminate with which and how you find your comfort, instead it plagues all.

Let us once again drift back to that in-between state with which we began this writing. The in-between of dream and reality, we now come back to when the Silent Killer strikes. At first the brain cannot comprehend the pain soon to be had, so it quickly shuns the thought. Yet, as the Silent Killer grows and grows, soon the we all come crashing back into a nightmarish reality. Somebody has passed gas, somebody has opened the realm to hell, somebody has released the Silent Killer from their internal prison.

Akin to a fire feeding on oxygen to grow, so to does the Tent Fart. Quickly taking away oxygen to be replaced with noxious gas, we all sputter and cough. Sweating, praying, shaking, to find a release. We but hope we have the strength to open the tent fly. As our vision begins to spot with blackness, and the tempting embrace of unconsciousness, we know we must not succumb. To succumb at this point would mean to forever be within a dream and never again to return to this reality. We must persevere, so as we choke and gasp, we use all the last of our strength to interlock our fingers upon the zipper to freedom, to life. Akin to moving a mountain we tug upwards knowing our power will never be enough, but finding a will to never stop fighting. After many more lungful's of toxic gas the zipper finally begins to move, each interlocked piece of metal it climbs filling our soul with a chorus of hope. Soon the entire fly is open as we all stumble into the night away from the Silent Killer, barely escaping its terminal grasp.


He fought the good fight... let us remember his nostrils fondly.


Yet, even as the tent fumigates and the Silent Killer slowly slinks and slithers away to find its next victims, we are all left with a stain upon our souls, as well as our mouths and nostrils. A grime that we try to wash away with time, with water, with laughter. Hoping it didn't fully splatter nor discolor what we all hold dear. Some come away lucky, and for some we continue to remember them fondly, remember them in the before time, remember before they were soiled and spoiled by the Silent Killer. Yes, they are still with us, but they remain forever changed, forever smeared by the Tent Fart's vileness. We shall remember no matter how painful, we shall remember.

It seems the best we can offer, is that we all share in this very real terror, and we all share having touched and being touched by its vile embrace. Even now it is still but a breach of wind away, a unsuspecting moment, a moment of laughing too hard, a moment of relaxing too fully, a moment of floating in comfort. All we can do together is now know it is out there, and be ready. Be ready for the next wave, be ready for the next fight, be ready with heads held high, and spare pants held in reserve, because we will no longer be its victim. We shall remember those before us, we shall remember those that still remain, we shall remember and learn. The Silent Killer shall no longer be Silent, we see it now, we hear it now, we say its name loudly and with the will to outlast any battle, we are ready for you TENT FART!



P:S: We once again have been too serious lately with our posts, so we hope you enjoy a funny story about farting in a tent, all hikers bane. Beware the Tent Fart!


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