All is peaceful on the home front. A typical evening, laying in bed reading a book. When I see something flicker across my field of vision just above my glasses, A mosquito? Yes, silently and stealthily it had just sampled the taste of blood from my forehead. I respond quickly, but this little cousin of the vampire quickly vanishes into thin air. I like to think there is just one, and if I eliminate it I can sleep through the night. But these buggers are sly, usually waiting until I am fast asleep to attack. And in the wee hours of the morning, long before the sun rises, they seem to be less concerned with the stealth factor. Either that or a full belly of fresh blood from a sleeping victim makes them lazy. But they are then no less quick, as I discover upon waking to the buzz of an attacker which seems to amplify as it invades my dream space. I turn the light on and prepare for battle, for there is no peaceful solution to this conflict.
They can suck my blood if they want to or really need to, I'll grant them that, but when they get greedy and insist upon waking me from a deep slumber, preventing me from receiving adequate rest after a long day of being a human. Well, one has to put their foot down somewhere, or arm oneself with a book, magazine, writing pad or often with just our bare hands. For such a tiny creature to cause such a large disturbance is surely one of nature's great imbalances. The fact that mosquitoes are known to be the delivery systems for deadly diseases notwithstanding.
These desert mosquitoes are a tough breed, small, usually silent, and often unnoticed until the wound is inflicted, they seem immune to my usual mosquito defense system. This is a technique that involves offering them my bare forearm as bait. This white fleshly target bulging with veins is usually too hard to resist for most mosquitoes I have encountered. But these ones so quickly go into hiding after they are detected, waiting, however long it takes, till I am either back asleep or let my guard down. Then they return with a vengeance. Again my rest is disturbed by what sounds like a dive bomber flying right into the eardrum. And the battle ensues...
Yet again, just laying peacefully in bed, reading by the dim light, I notice something fly by in very close proximity to my head. I get up, turn on the bright florescent and scour the environs. Almost invisible, the attacker lands on my arm. I poise to strike, but the bugger is so small the slight breeze created by my swift slap is enough to send him flying. He disappears again. I lay and wait, I notice that he has struck. Beside my forehead, a solid blow (or bite) to my forefinger, just above the large knuckle. And the tiny space on my back just above the waist that was exposed. Tired I give up the hunt, hoping he has had his fill. He hasn't, he comes back for more. Up again, light on, I wait, in nothing but shorts and a t-shirt. Out of nowhere he lands on my knee. Carefully I take aim, but an imperceptable quiver sends him flying off to obscurity. There is only one, and tonight he is the victor.
Where do they vanish too I wonder? I call it a battle because this is not the occasional bite, but a planned attack, pre-meditated on their part. They are a well trained militia, when one falls it is soon replaced by another familiar with the tactics, the territory, the optimum places of concealment. This is a small room, yet they manage to stay hidden until the time is right. Like when I sleep. Then, if there is any part of my body exposed, they feast. I say 'they', but it may be just one or two. Any more and I doubt they could conceal there whereabouts, their stronghold, so thoroughly.
How can one sleep while a foreign agent is penetrating the skin with it proboscus, drawing blood and leaving an irritating little bump? Once again I am awakened by a little blood sucking spawn of the devil. The light comes on and the battle begins. This is serious business. Praying to the gods offers no respite, and for this miniscule insect to be so successful at altering my sleep patterns is unaccetable. For lack of proper rest inhibits ones ability to function properly, affects ones mental state, and could quite possibly be knocking precious moments off the ticking clock that measures ones lifespan. It has become a question of survival.
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