Mosquito Hunters

“zzzZZZZ….”
The ubiquitous mosquito strikes again.
“Click.”
A light goes on.
“Arghh!!”
Furniture is knocked over. A sizzle and a satisfying pop follows.
“Gotcha!”
A triumphant cry. Feeble attempts to straighten the furniture. Shuffling footsteps.
Then the lights go out and all is silent. But not for long—
“Click.” Another light goes on.
The cycle begins all over again.
By seven o’clock in the morning, the house is rid of yet another half a dozen mosquitoes.
They are certainly not welcome here.
Our house is rigged with flytraps, armed with four different brands of repellent, fly swatters and electrifying “killer” bats, and constantly patrolled by five alert humans brandishing deadly weapons for the sole purpose of exterminating these bloodsuckers. Lots of inquisitive, hungry mosquitoes are often seen entering our residence—but not one of them comes out alive. If mosquitoes were clever, their authorities would’ve declared us one of those “Out of Bounds” areas marked with warning signs (only visible to those of the mosquito clan) saying, “Enter at your own risk”. Then of course, young misguided hooligan bloodsuckers would be our only uninvited guests, sent on overnight dares. But judging by the numbers of these irritating insects found buzzing around us all the time, the mosquitoes in our part of the city don’t have any brains. Or maybe they just drop by to momentarily escape the July heat.
Big mistake.

If some lonely pedestrian were to stroll by our house at night and spy a silhouette in the window, he’d probably imagine a lunatic in the midst of committing some murderous act. And if an unwelcome thief were to stealthily enter our living quarters, he’d be compelled to make a hasty retreat. Besides the various objects prepared for the annual massacre of mosquitoes, all air conditioning outlets in the vicinity are set to ten degrees below zero, in hopes that those little buggers will freeze to death or get blown around so much they smash themselves against the walls (well, that’s my younger sister’s theory). Which means no one can survive indoors without donning at least three layers of clothing—which also means our house is not only insect-repellent but people-repellent, too.

Snuggled in bed, with the covers pulled right up over our ears, shivering in our thick, woolly pyjamas and with a “killer” bat conveniently placed by our beds, the routine of killing mosquitoes goes on—night after night, day after day—until winter arrives and the mosquito population dwindles. We no longer have our sleeping hours disturbed by the sound of a mosquito’s persistent (but short-lived) buzzing. No more furniture gets destroyed in our intense chases and swipes at black specks on the walls. All the equipment gets stowed safely away for the next summer’s mosquito hunt. And the electricity bill drops (only to rise again when the heating facility is installed).

I know what you’re thinking—is all this trouble worth it? Well, it’s expensive, but it’s a fun form of exercise and prevents blood loss or itchy blotches. Most importantly, though, mosquito hunters get to escape the heat most of the day! Who says summer is hot?


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This was actually written for a contest on stories.com, but after reading the rules and requirements, my computer crashed and I was unable to locate the page again. The theme was related to summer, and having nothing better to do, I decided to go ahead and type up a short essay for self-amusement. I completed it in less than half an hour.

The idea stems from an exaggerated version of a true annual occurrence. My family has virtually made mosquito extermination a sport! Anyhow, I’ll probably edit this piece further in the summer of 2003, as I’m not very satisfied with it at the moment.