Stupid Insects

Second time year it’s rained in my bedroom. Woke up swampy and confused to the sound of frogs chirruping.
Mosquitoes sat on my toes, mumbling whines. Conspiratorial. Seemed they were having a meeting. Deciding whether or not to drain me right there and then.
I said nothing about the fact that I was empty of blood.
Colleagues made snide remarks about me when I turned up for my first day after the procedure. Of course, I was eventually called into the office. Took them less than three minutes to dismiss me. They claimed I was inattentive. Slothful. Disobedient.
Wankers.
One of the mosquitoes (maybe the scout), flew away out of the window. It looked clumsy. Stupid. Stupid, fucking insect.
The bed began to vibrate. I smiled. This was a dream. Certain of it, I was.
Then the sky went black. The room became a hive of fizzing needles with wings. Each skin cell lanced by a pinprick of electricity.
That was last week.
I’m down to bones nearly. But I haven’t got the heart to tell them they’re on to a dud.
Stupid insects.

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