The Mosquito

She walked quickly to the office, attempting to avoid all the mosquitoes. WHOOSH! She saw the blur from the corner of her eye, and knew one had just passed. She walked back towards the kitchen where she almost ran into her mother, who was fixing up some chicken pot pies.

"There are bugs here and I'm going to get them!" she exclaimed over excitedly, as she glared at her cat who was staring up from under a stool. "You could help, you know!" she exclaimed sounding not quite as deranged as she looked.

She grabbed a fly swatter and ran to the scene of the crime. "It'll return," she assured herself in a whisper. "They always do when they know what's coming."

Not a minute later, it came zooming past her head! She quickly changed position of the swatter in her sweaty little hand. WHOOSH! The fly swatter hit the wall with a bang.

She removed the big pink swatter from the wall to see what she had done. As she stared, she saw it. A shmear of mosquito guts. She was satisfied. With a triumphant gleam in her eye, due not only to the problem of allergies, but also her pride in killing the pest, she whooped and frolicked back to her office. She knew she'd write this down.

She sat down, but all too quickly an unpleasant coldness crept through her body, and she got up to walk it off. She walked back to the kitchen to talk to her mother. Her mother automatically took the advantage and got her to help with the cooking. When she walked to the fridge to get the grated cheese, her heart gave an unwelcome leap as she felt a strange tickle-like tingle in her foot for the seventh time that night.

"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" she exclaimed smashing her right foot with her left, narrowly missing the mosquito as she gave her own foot an unfortunate stomp.

She looked down at her cat, still under the stool, and the expression couldn't be anymore clear: her cat clearly thought she was the offspring of a troll.

The End.