Little mosquito, why have you done this to me? I have enough blood for both of us, and I would gladly share with you, but I'm allergic to your saliva and now for the third night in a row I'm lying in frustrated discomfort when I should be sleeping. It's not just the huge red welts that itch to high heaven, it's the paranoia that accompanies them. How am I supposed to sleep now, knowing that I'm lying her like a helpless piece of steak for you to consume.
I went online and looked for home remedies for the itching you've brought into my life, so now I'm dotted in little plasters of baking soda and I reek of finger nail polish remover and tea tree oil. This is what you've reduced me to little mosquito.
But this isn't the worst of it, all I want now is to kill you. I know if you were dead I'd be able to sleep again. The itching is only temporary, and I've taken two antihistamines, so I know it will go away soon, but my fear of your return is greater and will keep me awake until the drowsy side effects of those little yellow pills knock me out.
But I know you're still in here. I know it for sure because I can see you sitting calmly on my wall. You look so confident and sure of your safety. Do you know, little mosquito, that you've perched so high that I can't possibly reach you, even with a rolled up magazine? Do you know, little mosquito, the anguish that your presence is causing me?
Little mosquito, I was going to get up early and get some things done before work tomorrow. I was going to exercise and practice the violin. I was going to wash the dishes that I left in the sink after dinner. I won't have time now. I know already that it will be a fight to wake up at all, after the sleep inducing allergy pills that you inspired me to allow into my tormented body. Do you see where this is going, little mosquito? You've already given me sleepless discomfort, paranoia, and murderous intentions, but as though it isn't enough destruction for you, you're also reducing me to a creature that is unhealthy, without skill, and living in filth.
What I'm trying to say, little mosquito, what I'm shouting at you with my final remnants of consciousness before sleep takes over and leaves me victim once again, is that you're not invited. You're very unwelcome. You are a rude house guest, and I'm asking you to leave before I fight back into wakefulness from drug induced dreams of mosquito induced misery.