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As I lay in bed, starring out the window, staring at the placid moon, I spotted her entering my dreary quarters. She was silent, quick, and hungry for blood. She was attracted to me, like a moth to a flame. By the looks of it, her heart was small, if any. It was impossible to see anything in her eyes; there was only bloodlust. She pirched herself onmy waist,and leaned in. She gently took a bite, andbegan to devour my blood. I laid there, doning nothing; feeling nothing, waiting for the end. She stopped, then moved away. Was it a minute, an hour, a day? Who cares, it was over. Out the window she went, never to return. Out she went, looking for her next victim.

Damn Mosquito...