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Misquitoes

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Created on 1-22-07

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Story Rating G

It was sometime late in October. The night air was so thick that you could cut a slice of it and serve it on your toast, but no one seemed to notice because it was just another Louisiana night. The air had grown colder, but it was not cold; the weather was mostly bearable aside from the thick skin of humidity. With a few recent storms, a new type of mosquito had been blown in. They were swamp mosquitoes, and they thrived on this new cooler weather; only a hard frost could kill them. It had rained about a week ago, enough time for the mosquitoes to lay eggs, hatch them, and spawn thousands more. There was not much to do in Chicksborough, but it was a quaint little town. Not much went unnoticed; if your child had a mosquito bite one morning, everyone in town knew about it before supper. Not a Sunday went by when the pastor couldn't tell you who wasn't in church for the Sunday services, but that’s just the way small southern towns work. It didn't really bother anyone who lived there because that was all they knew. Their fathers and mothers, father's fathers and mother's mothers had all lived there. All enjoyed the simple life that the town offered, but he was growing tired of the monotonous ways of life that he had known. Lately it seemed like he was loosing himself here; he wanted a way to escape. He didn't know where he was going when he got in his truck that was mysteriously at the back of his property. He glanced at the floor of his truck and saw a picture that his little girl had given him a few days ago before he left to go to work. He thought of his little girl. Anyone would swear that she was her mother's clone. Those long brown curly locks and big brown eyes. She was rapting in both manor and appearance. Lately, whenever he thought of her, he could remember how she twirled around on one sunny day in the yard, just twirling and twirling until when she stopped and fell to the ground laughing. As she looked up at him he realized that was her mother in everyway. The care free laughing spirit that had almost a sprightly secretiveness to her, although you never could tell exactly what she was hiding, whether devilish or pure. She would do the most incredibly fiendish thing imaginable, but the next second she had you doubled over and laughing so hard that you had forgotten that you were mad at all. He sighed and put the key into the ignition. The grumble of the engine brought him back to reality. He thought about his beat up truck, not but a year old, but it was a working man's truck that any ol' boy would have been proud of. He didn’t remember where he had been that evening, but he knew he needed time to think about something. He had no one to talk to but the dashboard, so he tried, but he had no idea what he wanted to say. There was something tearing and gnawing at his brain. And anyway even the dashboard seemed to gawk at his words, so he decided that only crazy fools would talk to dashboards anyway. There was a strange thing in the air tonight, aside from the constant blanket of humidity. There was something dancing and twirling in his veins, it was almost dizzying. He had never felt like this before, he wanted to throw up, and he was uneasy about something that he just could not understand. He felt a passion about something that seemed almost intangible, and untouchable. He had done something, said something, or should have done or said something, but the events of his day were as mysterious to him as a woman. His feelings nearly scared him, but he continued down the beaten up road, just driving along, thinking about what he wanted to say, but no words came, and no thoughts that were in the least intelligible came to his brain, only short quick observations. He noticed the time, the looming clouds, a dead cat on the side of the road, the graffiti on the stop sign. He was looking for the place he wanted to go, but he didn't know where he wanted to go. All he knew was to drive and get somewhere, somewhere in life, somewhere in space. He wanted to find a purpose, but felt this life had none to offer him. He needed someone to talk to, about what he hadn't a clue. The clock switched digits and changed from PM to AM, but he wasn’t tired. He thought about his little girl again, once she had told him, in all of this innocence and angelic ness that little girlsseem to possess by merely being little girls, "Daddy, one day I will tell you what I know about the woods""What do you know about the woods?""They are not the place to be when the mosquitoes come.""I know honey; they will carry you away in a swarm.""But wait daddy, one day you will understand me better." He still had no idea what the odd little being was talking about. He and the girl's mother looked at each other and laughed; the child was always saying odd things, but never seemed to give reason why. A pothole in the beat up road had disturbed what once was a steady stream of thought. He wanted to listen to something, because it seemed like no one would listen to him. He turned on a talk show on the radio."And when they, the aliens I mean, came through my window, I knew that I would never be the same again.""Can you tell us what you experienced that-"He turned off the radio. What kind of insane person actually believes in alien abduction? He didn't really want to listen to the radio anyway. The silence helped him think, about what he hadn't a clue. He wanted someone to talk to, and he wanted to drive. He thought about the woods. Behind his house were several acres of wooded land that he often enjoyed hunting in. On the weekends he would rise early and drive to the back of the property and enter into the covering of trees. All he took were a gun and a knife; no feed, no urine, nothing to lure in anything. He wanted to feel like he was fighting fair, not just pretending he wanted to make nice and shoot something. Because of the recent rain and weather the mosquitoes were abundant, and he was allergic to the bites, so he had not been in about a week. He sniffed the air as if he were sniffing for deer urine in the woods. His truck smelled like death. It usually did because he brought back any killings in the bed of his truck, but tonight the death smell was different: maybe a little sweeter and a little fouler. It left a funny taste in his mouth. He wanted a cigarette; it would calm his cloudy racy mind. It would help him think. He reached into the consol where he usually kept a pack for the occasional down time he had. He opened the pack and saw that there weren't any left. Now he had to have a cigarette; there was no way he could fight it this time. The next gas station was about five miles up the road. He could get a new pack there. The clouds grew thick and heavy with rain, but they weren't ready to storm yet. They were waiting for the right moment. The thunder crashed and insisted that the cloud let out the rain, but the clouds politely refused. The darkness that had closed in on his truck was enveloping his thoughts. He reached the gas station, and pulled in. He was the only one there besides the person working the cash register. She was a rather large woman in her late twenties. She had ruddy skin covered with acne, and you could tell that she had battled with the acne her whole life because of the holes that were in her skin. She had terrible blond highlights over her dark brown hair. Her eyes were bulging and a dark blue. They pierced through him as he walked into the store. The round woman stared at him. He knew that he probably looked a mess, but really she had no reason to gawk like that. She looked worse than him on a good day than he did on a bad day, this is what he thought. He asked her for a pack of cigarettes casually, and she gave it to him all the while looking at him as if he had stuck a gun to her temple and told her to give him all of the money that had ever touched her fat fingers. He gave her a five dollar bill without asking for change and went to his truck. As he walked to his truck he opened the pack of cigarettes, and then he opened his truck and grabbed his lighter out of the consol and light one cigarette. He leaned against his truck and took a long drag, and as he did he saw his hunting knife. Odd, he thought, it was bloody.He hadn’t been hunting that day because of the weather...well he didn’t think he had, but the day seemed like so long ago and he really didn’t remember.He had no idea at all what he had done that day. Oh well, he took another long drag from his cigarette. He looked in the store and saw the cashier on the phone with someone. She had that same stupid look that she had given him when he entered the store. She wanted someone to talk to her too, he thought. Someone to listen; someone to hear her. Now she looked like she was scared, maybe she was just crazy and looked at everyone like that. He took a final drag before he got in his truck and stamped out the tiny nub that was left of his cigarette. Maybe he being there so late was making her nervous.He wasn’t quite sure what was going still, so he decided that maybe just one more cigarette would help. He picked up a cigarette and then put it down again. Then he though of his little girl again. A few months ago she snuck into his truck (how she did this he had no clue because he truck was always locked and he always kept his keys on him) and stole his cigarettes and threw them away. When she saw that he was looking for them she had said

"Daddy that’s not good for you, they are bad."

He looked at the child he had no idea how she knew the things she knew at such a young age; she had the insight that sometimes even he did not process. After that she made him promise he would no longer smoke, and he had kept that promise up until that very week.

He suddenly felt cold toward his family, but the distance had been growing for a while, but before that he had always loved them, just felt a space between them that wasn’t there before. He picked up the cigarette again, just one more, he thought. He rolled down his window so he could let out the smoke as he started to drive away.

He wanted someone to talk to and didn’t know where he wanted to go, but he had to go somewhere someone would listen to him, someone would hear him, about what he didn’t know.

As he drove the air got thicker, and it got hotter, intensely hotter. The rain would come soon; the patience of the clouds was running thin and so was the man's. He had no clue why but he was suddenly mad at nothing in particular and yet this seemed to be par for the day, yes that’s it, he was mad today horridly mad, but he hadn’t a clue why or what had happened he just knew he was angry at something, but what he couldn’t say. The rain was coming, he could smell it would pour soon, and then maybe the rain would soothe him, but not just yet maybe give it a half hour or so. He kept driving not knowing where he wanted to go, not that there was really any place to go there or anything to do.

He just drove the long road came to an intersection with a four way stop he shifted down gears and came to a stop there was no point in stopping, he knew, there was no one on the roads this late, but habits are not easily broken. A mosquito, sensing the oncoming storm was seeking a haven and flew through the open window of the truck. He didn’t notice it at first, but then the tiny little thing was bouncing along the window and, he swatted it and smashed the mosquito against the dashboard and left a bloody print. He looked at the mark with confused eyes he looked at his hand the mosquito must have had a lot of blood in it, and it must have splattered on his hand.

He could have easily pulled away at this point, being stopped at the stop sign for at least two minutes now, but just as soon as he was getting ready to pull away another mosquito buzzed in, just bouncing along, and he swatted at this one too and hit it against his leg. Then he happened to catch his reflection on the side view mirror of his truck and then he adjusted his rearview mirror so he could see his reflection in that too.

There was blood on his face; it must have splattered on him when he killed the mosquitoes. Strange, he thought, mosquitoes usually only have just a little bit of blood in them, if any not this much then he looked down and saw his shirt, God, what was with these mosquitoes, they were like tanks. He opened the glove compartment to get out a few napkins to wipe away the mosquito blood. He began to wipe away the sticky blood splatter. It was thick on the napkin, and still a few spots would have to remain until he could wash. Amazing, who knew those tiny things could hold so much blood. Another mosquito came in he hit it against the passenger seat, whoa, another filled one. There was blood all over the seat as he sat there rapt by the massive amounts of blood that was held by tiny creatures, he hardly noticed that a police car had pulled up behind him the officer stepped out and walked toward the truck.

“Walt, what are you doing?”

"Hey Jeff, will yah look at this, I swatted a few mosquitoes and they had all kinds of blood in them. It looks like it killed someone in here," he said with a slight grin. The officer gave Walt a troubled look. "Isn’t this crazy Jeff, I’ve never seen anything like this before."

"Yah Walt,... crazy." "I mean like really, look at this, its insane."

Jeff looked at his brother with disgust and a hint of sympathy "Alright, Walt, step out of the truck." Walt just laughed. "Man, I can’t believe your pulling this again," Walt said as he hopped out of the truck. When Jeff first became an officer, he had pulled Walt over, and faked an arrest; he even took him to the station for fingerprinting. Jeff pulled the scheme off fabulously, Walt had actually thought that he had done something wrong. Walt just laughed as his younger brother put handcuffs on him "I can’t wait to tell Connie about this one."

"Walt, stop pretending now," Jeff was beginning to get worried. "No really Jeff, that blood isn’t fake, and you’re doing really good this time, I would almost believe you." Jeff told his brother the rights that were granted to him by men that were long dead. Walt smirked as he sat in the back seat of the police car. Jeff started his engine and pulled away, heading for the police station. He never said a single word to his big brother, he didn’t know what to say nor did he have the courage to bring him the harsh reality that was his past or what would be his future.

Jeff just sat there and started to think about how hard this would be for the town, for him, for his family. There would be the looks of shame, looks of sympathy, looks of disgust. He would probably have to move, for the sake of his family at least.

He looked in his rearview mirror and saw his brother clearly thinking that all this was a joke, but the blood that covered his body clearly indicated otherwise. He pulled into the police station and escorted Walt inside. Fingerprints were taken and so was a mug shot, Jeff started to shake violently.

Earlier that night, Walt's neighbors had called the police station; they had heard screams coming from Walt's house. Later a call from a woman at a convenience store had informed the station about a man covered in blood asking for cigarettes.

"I don't want you telling him anything until we're sure that he did it, ok?" Jeff pleaded with a fellow officer, the officer nodded. Walt was given a prison uniform and was taken to a room and locked in solitary confinement for what seemed like an eternity.

The next thing that Walt remembered was seeing his brother again. He came in the cell and had a seat on the bed right next to his brother "Walt, the blood that was on your clothes and in your truck matches the same as Connie and Tessera." Walter had a looked of disbelief, but Jeff saw something else, or didn’t see something else. There was no recognition, no remorse. What was going through Walter’s head?

"Jeff, how crazy is that, the same mosquitoes that bit my wife and kid came and flew in my truck, but I killed those stupid mosquitoes, so it’s kinda like revenge huh? Now can you please let me out of here, I want to go home and see my family."

Comments

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On July 2nd 2007 onaipwolf Said :

	Great story. I liked how the little girl seemed to know what was going to happen. The only thing I don't quite understand is why she would giggle about it. But I really enjoyed reading it. :)

On April 14th 2007 Tiffiscool16 Said :

	That was awesome! Truely your descriptions to the whole plot. Loved it!

On March 23rd 2007 AHORTON12 Said :

	VERY GOOD STORY, DESCRIPTION OF EVERYTHING FROM THE TEMPERATURE TO THE SMELL OF THE AIR. AWESOME. GOOD JOB!!!!!!!!!

On February 8th 2007 LokiSeto Said :

	Very interesting and yet... the beginning just seemed a little out of it. I can understand that it should be but there little things that just didn't sound right with it. Although good story none the less.

On February 8th 2007 jac41190 Said :

	actually...waiting to use the main character's name is a technique used by a few highly acclaimed authors...guy de maupassaunt for example (sorry about the spelling)

On February 7th 2007 JDLemon Said :

	Good story...but to help out your readers...you may want to use walt's name quite a bit earlier...all of the pronouns in the beginning get confusing, otherwise good...

On January 27th 2007 jac41190 Said :

	ok ppl, y'all are kinda stupid...the whole point is that he is insane, and if you didnt get that then, um, YOU need help, not trying to piss anyone off, but i mean come on

On January 27th 2007 batmanrocks92 Said :

	Good story!!!I agree he does need help.

On January 22nd 2007 ChaoticKimmy Said :

	That's twisted, and Walter needs some serious help! I kinda got the idea of what had happened at the part about the gas station, so it wasn't a huge surprise... But a good story, none the less.

On January 22nd 2007 bordumb Said :

	Wow, I loved it. The ending was great.

On January 22nd 2007 EmoXxFreakk Said :

	Why is it so long~?!?!? But I read it....in a real weird non-understanding way.

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