Blood. This is truly a mosquitoes slaughterhouse. Blood, blood and more blood. Unfortunately it’s the butcher’s own blood. Hunter turned hunted.
ZZZ the mosquitoes buzz at the break of dusk.
“Let’s attack him,” they urge each other. “Wait, he is still not asleep,” the younger skinny one complains. “He is never fully sleep. You will starve if you wait for him to,” the father warns.
They all seek off to make the kill leaving undecided but hungry son there.
ZZZ goes the sound of the army flying above their prey. He’s half dead, half sleep and half awake. He is ready to smash anyone who threatens to take even a 0.000001 of a drop of his dear blood. “Be ware to make the slightest noise, lest we sleep hungry,” the uncle cautions the members of the swarm, “or get descended in,” the grandfather knows better. He had seen many members lose limbs or heads through his life in the territory.
They surround him. Some perch on his hand that is firmly holding the edge of the blanket to cover his head. He doesn’t make a move at first. More members join their colleagues. It’s time to siphon, each one to their full. The territory owner is willing to endure the pain at first, bite the itch is growing, more and more. “Johan will sleep hungry because if his laziness and cowardice,” Aunt Teddy throws in. No sooner is that said than BAAM!!! The owner of the territory slaps the wall, injuring three and killing one while the others flee.
And that marks the day when some members will sleep hungry. Johan included.