January 11, 2011
I watched a mosquito yesterday
|Photo by Alvesgaspar|
It came in from the courtyard outside. It was the middle of the day. It was relentless. It hunted without end until its target was found.
It flew around our pet rats, even settling on one of their heads, but still it found no satisfaction.
Losing interest, I looked away for a second, and upon inspection the strange itch on my arm another second later was found to be none other but the same mosquito's proboscis, which had found its target and ensued sucking the blood from my forearm.
I always feel bad when I kill a mosquito, but after nights spent trying in vain to sleep with the relentless buzzing and repeat itch attacks, I sometimes cannot help myself.
I feel bad because I know that she is only after sustenance for the development of her children. But she can have oh-so-many children! After digesting the blood and laying her eggs, she returns as a repeat offender, over and over again until she dies.
I watched the mosquito that sparked this post sucking on my arm, and even saw her belly fill up with my very own blood.
I remembered the smell of bluegums and didn't kill her. I watched her fly away after a small flick of my finger.