The Mosquito That Did Not Bite.

Don’t judge, we are all different.

Photo by Егор Камелев on Unsplash

The house next to ours has new tenants. They are a messy bunch of boys. They treat their house like a dump, which is great for my family and me. The more garbage they collect, the more we like to hang out. Oh wait, let me introduce myself. I’m Mrs. Ann, the mosquito. My family and I live in an unkept lake in Bengaluru city. My great grandmother found this lake very fascinating. She often told me that the human government is doing a great job at protecting our lives. We should be grateful for their disregard towards development. We have lived here the last many 100 generations. I’m what you call ‘middle aged’ right now, about 30 days old. In the day I like to spend time collecting blood at the local school. By evening, I like to hang around here by the lake and watch humans clap their palms around me. It often feels like they are applauding my presence.

I’m a concerned mother these days. My daughter Morty is not very good at getting her daily source of protein. You know… I’m not worried about the boys. The male mosquitoes have their privileges. All they have to do is wander-around flowers and collect nectar. But it’s hard being a female anopheles in this day-and-age. She is in her teens, it’s a hard time to talk to them about their issues around this age. The other day, I followed her to the house of the boys next to the lake, the same guys I told you about. Their dirty house is a great place for my young daughter to start. And don’t judge me for following my daughter alright! If being a concerned mother is a crime, take me to the electrical discharge insect control system.

I looked through the window, the one the boys always kept open. I saw my little one trying to find her next target. That open window is also how we always get into the house, those stupid boys have no ideas. The boys seem to be having some kind of gathering of more humans. They were lighting some herbs in a rolled paper and kissing the end of it. It was of those smokes that made me weak, but I was getting a little light headed. I am not sure why humans keep lighting things on fire every time they see one of us.

My daughter has a lot more options today to pick from, but she could not put her mind to it. I do not understand what had her so worried. The boys who usually burn herbs at their homes do not even feel us sitting on their skin. I saw as my kid make her mind up and flew towards one of the boys. She was doing it! She as going to finally make her first bite. As she moved in the direction of the boy, I could see a slight shiver in her wings. It reminded me of the first time I went for my bite. I was a little younger than her at my time, but I was a more confident macchar.

She sat on the neck of one of the boys. I was very proud of this subtle move. The neck is a perfect human blind spot. They can’t see us coming in, neither can their friends, and if they deiced to swing their arm at us… it’s too far to be swift. My daughter was on the right patch for success. She sat there for a few seconds, two long…long…long seconds later, I could not take it anymore. Why is my baby not making a bite? Is she turning suicidal? Is she going through an emotional struggle? Is a male involved? is she affected by the smoke blast we all got stuck in the other day? The worried thoughts decided to flood my brain, paralyzing my body. I heard a voice. “Ouch, the bitch bit me!”. As upset, as I was about the human, called my little kid a bitch, My kid finally made her first bite. I peeped in to see the proud moment… but there was no reason for my celebrations. One of the humans had bit the other human. I know! Why do they do these things after kissing paper rolls of herb? This whole species is JUST weird!!

Back in the lake, I confessed to my kid about following her to the house. Upset at first, later she understood my worries. “Why did you not bite the boy? You were so close!” I asked her. “I am not into humans mom, I like biting birds! Can you stop forcing me!” she yelled. My heart skipped a beat. My daughter was a Culiseta-Melanura, not an anopheles. She was a species, that was into bird blood. As a parent, could I be willing to accept that she was not one of us? Maybe not. I was also not going to torture my kid over nature’s choice…one she has nothing to do with. She was my daughter and I’ll accept her for what she is… even if it is birds that make her eggs go wild.


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