Just One Damn Mosquito

 

                                                                        Fiction

(This story was written during the COVID-19 pandemic۔)

A while ago, mosquitoes were everywhere. In the house, on the street, in alleys, shops, and markets — their constant buzzing was as natural as breathing. But now... it seems they’ve disappeared. Not a single whine in the air. That doesn’t mean they’re gone. No — they’ve simply changed their rhythm, their tune.

One evening, seduced by this illusion of peace, I left the balcony door open. Once a battlefield of mosquito swarms, it now looked strangely tranquil.

I made myself a cup of tea and settled near the balcony with a book in hand, savoring the breeze. A few pages in, I felt a sharp sting on my neck — like a needle.

So much for illusions.

I slammed the door shut and returned to my reading chair, placing the mosquito spray within reach. The room was silent enough to hear a pin drop. That’s when I heard it — the faint, unmistakable buzz of doom.

I reached for the spray, scanning the air like a hunter... but the mosquito evaded me.

“Must’ve escaped,” I muttered and returned to my book.

But just a few lines later, the whine returned — louder this time, like a tiny trumpet of war. I launched into action again, brandishing my weapon.

And then... it happened.

Before I could strike, a tiny voice screamed:
"Please! Don’t kill me! I mean no harm! Just listen!"

I froze.
Was I hallucinating?

I looked around. The room was empty.

That’s when the mosquito — yes, the mosquito — gracefully hovered into view, settled on my book, folded its tiny hands (or what looked like hands), and said,
"It was me. I'm the one speaking. Please don’t kill me. Hear me out."

A talking mosquito? I rubbed my eyes.

“Don’t be so surprised,” it said, clicking its tiny fingers to grab my attention. “Don’t react like India — shocked — or Pakistan — panicked.”

"You... can speak?"

“Of course,” it said proudly. “I’m not just any mosquito. I’m The Dengue Mosquito — infamous, feared... though lately, our market value has dropped. Thanks to COVID-19, no one takes us seriously anymore. We’ve been upstaged!”

“You talk, dance, and do tricks? Since when?”

“We always could! But you humans never bothered to see beyond your bug spray. You dismissed us as mere nuisances. We’re performers too — with hidden talents.”

“You have only one talent — biting people.”

“Thanks to Nana Patekar, we’ve been typecast. His line, ‘Ek machhar aadmi ko hijra bana deta hai’ destroyed our image. But we’ve fought back. We rebuilt our reputation!”

“You... have a reputation?”

“I told you. I’m dengue. Pureblood. Hardcore.”

“Hardcore?”

“Yes — like your human fanatics. No tolerance, no mercy. We strike with purpose.”

I blinked. “But why are you here?”

“Well,” it sighed dramatically, “our mosquito council selected a few of us to meet influential, sensible humans. Writers, mostly. Our divine mosquito overlord has commanded us to remind humans: Don’t fear the virus. Fear us. We’re more dangerous.”

“Wow, bold words for something I can kill with a single squirt.”

“Spoken like a true caveman,” the mosquito scoffed. “You live under a rock, don’t you? Ever heard of Business Insider? That Australian journal revealed that malaria is the deadliest disease in human history. Half of all humans who ever lived were killed by mosquitoes. Half!”

It was on a roll now.

“Malaria defeated entire armies. It crushed Genghis Khan’s men, humbled Attila the Hun. Alexander the Great? Gone. Pharaoh Tutankhamun? Dead. All because of us. Not bad for something you call a ‘pest.’”

I was dumbfounded by its historical knowledge.

“Alright,” I conceded, “but still, mosques, temples, churches, gurudwaras — even Mecca, the Vatican, and the Wailing Wall — were shut down by COVID. You’ve never achieved that.”

The mosquito grinned.

“Your sacred institutions were never closed for us — but the virus? It brought the world to its knees. Still, I promise you: we’re not done. All your temples will reopen. And we’ll be waiting.”

I sat stunned. The mosquito chuckled, leaned in... and bit me gently on the cheek.

Then, buzzing like a satisfied villain, it vanished — without even saying goodbye.