Chemical warfare

I’ve had a week of going to sleep with the city sprawled beneath my window, the gentle drone of its snore punctuated by the odd call of a siren, or drunken reveler. Suburbia certainly has a different sound. But I find the background noises of the city strangely soothing at night. And if I do stumble, disoriented from my bed in search of water, the scattered jewels of the city lights below my balcony make me smile.

All that even though I am about to launch all out war against one, solitary, cocky mosquito who has been treating me as its private buffet for the past few nights.

It has been hot and I’ve kept my windows open at night, but that cool breeze comes at a price. Six times – it bit my wrist six times last night, and let’s not even count the bites on my elbow, thigh, knee, back and chin. It buzzes painfully close to my ear, but once I fumble for the light switch and bathe my room in a blue glow, it’s nowhere to be seen.

Oh, but it’s far more crafty than simply hiding until the lights go out again. Occasionally it will cruise, taunting, fast my face, safe in the knowledge that at 3.23am my eyesight and reflexes won’t let my heavy grasp get within even 30cms of it.

Hate is small, high pitched and itchy.

This evening I take a turn past Garden Centre to see what they have in the way of chemical weaponry. I will be the victor.


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