It’s evening and I want to sit outside because it’s still pretty warm here in Calgary. The house is muggy even though there is a fan whirring softly in the corner and the patio door is wide open. But there is no breeze. And I really want to sit outside.
But the second I step out the door it’s like my body emits this radiance that no one else can see and then the mosquitoes attack, just like in the 1963 movie The Birds. They are everywhere. Swarming and hovering, waiting to feast on the sweet red nectar that courses through my veins. To fill their little bellies to the point of near explosion. With their hunger sated, and the welts starting to raise on my delicate skin, the itch sets in. I try to ignore it and sometimes successfully, but when there are so many in one spot, it’s really hard to forget about.
I scratch my skin until it bleeds, just inviting a new wave of little beasts. I slap at the newcomers, fighting them off with all the energy I can muster until finally I have to flee, from these tiny little bugs, back to the mugginess of the living room.