A small murder

I felt the blissful tug of drowsiness at about 3 a.m. Monday morning, after hours of tossing and turning. Closed my book, turned off the light. Embraced the heaviness of imminent slumber.

I only vaguely registered a sinister whine, as much a sense of disturbance in the air as an actual sound. Then, an insistent itch. Just off the knuckle, in the tender skin between the second and third fingers on my right hand, the mosquito had bit. Hard.

Enraged, I flicked on the light again, focusing my eyes on my immediate surroundings. It didn’t take long. The mosquito clung heavily to the wall above me, fattened and lethargic, gorged with blood. I raised my hand slowly, then slammed it home.

I pulled my hand away and brushed the tiny carcass from it. Examined the red smear on the wall. Vindication.

In the normal course of events, I’m all about empathy for little things. If a fruitfly falls in my wine, I’ll take great pains to try to rescue it, blowing on its wings to dry it out and sober it up. But mosquitoes are something else. Mosquitoes taunt you before attacking. Mosquitoes hit you at 3 a.m. when you’re already having a shitty time trying to sleep. Mosquitoes go for the skin between your knuckles, or between your toes.

Some murders are justified.

Comments

[Nalyd Renrut]

I guess I need a blog too, since my wife seems to pre-empt my comments. All right, I'm a little slow...except when it comes to mozziies (as the Australians sometimes call them), or skeeters (more familiar at home).
I really like to turn the night murder into a bit of an event, so that everyone around can enjoy the chase. Mostly this just means talking about just where the little buggers are, and what this entails. I become oblivious to the general protocol of the "small hours" - a good hunt is no time for tiptoeing around or hushed tones. Of course, method always depends on environment - high ceilings may look purty, but they can really thwart the best hunting effort - but unwavering intent usually trumps all, I find. There is no holding back, no giving in... victory is the only possible outcome. And yes, bloody evidence of it is most welcome.