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.