My mom always tells me to just kill the mosquito that's been wandering in my room for days instead of just spraying myself with repellent. She says that mosquito has been torturing me for days now. What she doesn't understand is that it's not torturing me, I'm torturing it. Everyday, every night, I close the door in my room and turn my lights off. I can hear it, hovering, lurking, starving. Starving for my flesh. I know it sees me, I know how much it desires my hot, fresh blood. But it can't have it. It stares at my naked limbs like a hungry predator that's just a few centimeters from it's tiny legs. But it can't touch me, can't feel me, can't drink me. It's getting desperate with starvation, I can hear it, everytime it tries to take a sip off my body. But I won't let it have it, not now, not ever. Not until I can see it's tiny and barely conscious body laying on the floor, staring at me. Staring at heaven, while it died in hell.