"The Telltale Shart"

In order for one to fully appreciate the goal of this post, a general understanding of Edgar Allan Poe's story of guilt, "The Telltale Heart," is helpful.  The full text (it's a super quick read unless you aren't good at reading) can be found here.  In the case that you don't feel like reading some dead guy's old, dated story, I've paraphrased it and centered it around a more modern and relatable event.  I have entitled my rendition "The Telltale Shart." 

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"The Telltale Shart"

TRUE!  nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad?  This ill-feeling had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them.  Above all was the sense of smell acute.  I smelled all things in the heaven and in the earth.  I smelled many things in hell.  How then am I mad?  Hearken! as I recount this harrowing tale.

It is impossible to say how first the feeling entered my bowels, but once there, it haunted me.  I was party to a gathering where droning voices tugged me into restful napping -- when abdominal rumbles first made their their presence known!  A swelling pressure and great discomfort replaced the peaceful calm of my digestive tract.

Now this is the point.  You fancy me mad.  Madmen know nothing.  But you should have seen me.  You should have seen how wisely I proceeded -- with what caution -- with what foresight I went to work!  Side to side I glanced, checking for any hint of anticipation on my coworkers' faces.  There was none.

Then I pushed.  Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I made my efforts!  I pushed slowly, very, very slowly.  A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did the walls of my sphincter.  

Eventually, I reached the blessed moment.  My cheeks were still and stalwart as the pressure released.  As the trial reached its end, I gave a small effort to ensure that all had escaped.  Lo! a new discomfort!  Betwixt the buns, though silent, too much had come to pass.  It seemed as though something more had escaped beyond the air which I had yearned to release.

Then, an affront was on my sensitive nostrils.  They were finely attuned to the scent of treason.  My body had betrayed me.  I was sure of it.

I began to gasp up lungfulls of air.  If I were to breathe up the awfulness, there would be none more for the rest to bear witness.

I did my upmost to preserve my countenance whilst engaging in this most nefarious affair.  But!  I was sure that they were keen to my misdeeds.  Though my companions held strong to their task, I was convinced that the feature of my err was hot on their noses.  

I smiled, hoping my reasonable appearance would convince them of my innocence.

They continued on as if nothing was the matter.  Chattering away with not a care in the world.  I fidgeted.  Was it possible that they could not smell it?  Almighty God!  -- no, no?  They smelled! -- they suspected! -- they KNEW! -- they were making a mockery of my horror!  But anything was better than this agony!  Anything was more tolerable than this derision!  I could bear their hypocritical smiles no longer!  I felt I must scream or die!

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more!  I admit the deed!"  I stood and revealed the seat of my pants.  "Here, here!  It is the mark of my horrid shart!"

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You should really read Edgar Allan Poe's version.  His is less juvenile.  Here's the link again.