There's one mosquito left. One. It's been within my crosshairs three times, and each time it somehow manages to elude my hand at the very last moment. I don't know how this can be. I've even had an electronic mosquito killed lined up with its body, only to have the swatter malfunctioned. This mosquito is blessed by gods, or at least highly evolved. It's like Scar, the Cylon Raider. I can't kill it. I can barely find it.
It's 3:40 a.m. and I have been searching for half an hour. I should name it, this. It has single-handedly given me OCD. My eyes are tracing square inches.
What I know:
1. It doesn't land the same place twice.
2. It prefers dark surfaces, mahogany, that sort.
3. It will not fly into the light, but neither will it fly away if you shine a light upon it.
4. It's fast.
5. It's huge.
It's engorged on my blood and that blood needs to be spilled. It's 3:59 a.m.
UPDATE, 7/29, 10:13 a.m.: Thanks to Lee for reminding me to say for the record that, like Scar, all forces of evil must eventually perish with no resurrection. But let us remember, in our victory, that a day of reckoning awaits us all, and celebrate not death but the worth of all our separate lives.
Kaila! Jordan! Kevsther!
3 years ago