The mosquito had gained access to the house and I was nearing my limit on patience. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her stealthy approach to my arm. Slap and a miss. Back to writing. Buzz near my ear. Slap and a miss.
I’m losing blood.
The two dogs have found peace on the couch. My tormentor must be getting full at this point. Right? How much blood does it take to fill a single mosquito bitch? How many small welts before I run to the back bedroom and slam the door? It’s the middle of the day. We’re going to be together for a long time if I can’t increase my defensive weapons and vigilance.
This story is not going all that well, right? I’d say I’m distracted. Damn near furious. Let me pause here and give the beast my full attention.
Do the new generation of mosquitos learn to fly again, like newborns, when they begin to evolve into flying pests? In the early days of their infestation they seem to be poor pilots, they bump into me, end up landing on the warm coffee cup beside me, and still manage to avoid my antiaircraft barrage.
What are my choices?
Try and forget about the mosquito and focus on the writing.
Spend a few minutes tracking and hunting the little vampire.
Hope that she gets full and quits biting me.
I am ready to Google “how much blood does a single mosquito need?”
I’m no longer typing now. I’m scanning my local fly zone for movement. I do hope it’s only one mosquito I’ve let in this morning. I’m still losing blood, but it probably will not kill me or give me eternal life.
Update: A day later the bastard is still bumping into me and causing bumps. I guess she’s hungry again.
Read more Short-Short Stories from John.