Tickler The Mosquiter

Even the staunchest of God’s aficionados may suddenly experience a moment of creeping doubt upon hearing my story, a tale as absurd as a game made professional; as absurd as the idea of progress in human societies where, as far as I can see, greed, vanity and ambition are the only constant triggers to these poor two-legged creatures’ behaviour; as absurd, definitely, as a pointless life which is only a path to an inevitable death…

You may laugh, or indeed you might cry, when you hear that I have spent most of my life in a frozen state, literally! Three whole months of my existence! A mere ice cube! Three months frozen and then, finally defrosted, merely three weeks to live… Is this fair?!? I might have willingly drowned myself in a mojito if I had had the chance, what a glorious escape it would have been…

As a matter of fact I almost did not make it to the sentient, warmish, ay defrosted stage of life. One day, as my best friend Cookie and I were nicely thawing along, chatting away most contentedly, finally able to speak if not to move yet, unlike the rest of our tribe who were in the sun, when Cookie suddenly told me:

- Tickler!

- What?

- Quiet!

- Cookie dear, I will not be shushed.

- If you want to live, you will!

Cookie was right. We were under attack. A cannibalistic tribe of barbarian larvae had sneakily appeared and were now busy eating away our people! Sick and frightened Cookie and I could do nothing but watch as the assault took place amidst gentle ripples and soft rubbing noises… They tried it on us too, but our ice-hard countenance discouraged them… So Cookie and I survived, among the only ones of our tribe in that part of the pond.

As you will have guessed, I am a mosquito. If I had had my say, I do not think I would have elected to come to life in this form. Quite apart from the ugliness of my shape, which I do my best to remedy, there is this overwhelming universal hatred that men and beasts alike seem to feel towards us. As if they were all angels! Ha! All genocidal maniacs if you ask me, when half of us mosquies are innocent creatures, and the other half, although evil, brought its demoniac skill only to the level of vampiring… The only ones that genuinely like us are our predators, but then again I am not convinced they have our best interests at heart.

I went through my pupal stage like a shadow. You may recollect from your own youth that phase when you basically hang around in your room, apathetic, melancholy, full of misunderstood meaningfulness – in my case lethargically floating in one corner of the pond, oblivious to the rest of the world, not even bothering to eat… Boring stuff. But all along planning the whizzy breezy life that I now lead. My thinking has always been that life is short, so let’s make the most of it. And as, in seven days of adult life, I cannot be expected to create an oeuvre, whether artistic, musical, social or political, I am doing my best to make my existence a masterpiece of fun. I know most of my folks think ill of me, they believe I am selfish, they say I have betrayed the old-age motto of our tribe: from pupa to papa. In truth, I am not interested. At all. Have you ever heard of mosquito sex? No. Because it is boring. Plus mosquito females are just these horrible blood-sucking monsters, who would literally kill in order to reproduce: a slayer to be a layer… Sickening. So Cookie and I avoid them – well Cookie does not avoid them entirely, however he is utilising his time with them most productively… Mostly he and I go along with our mates and get high on fantastic nectars. You would not imagine the unbelievable nectars we have found. Some of them even naturally contain alcohol!!! Then when we are a little intoxicated, we fly perilously high – if our mothers saw us! – and get ourselves tossed about by the air. What a breeze! Our little heads get properly turned and, when we finally come down, I can tell you we speak some jolly good nonsense. Wonderful stuff.

- If you know the right technique, any mosquito could knock a cow out. It’s not a question of size you know.

- How’s that?

- It’s like that thing of moving the whole earth with a stick.

- Ah yeah, true. One just needs to know how to do it…

- I think I know actually.

- Do it then.

- Do you have a stick?

- I mean the thing with the cow.

- Ah, yes… Well I guess you could also knock a cow out with a stick. Just a question of knowing the technique…

- Quite so.

- We should look for a stick.

- And a cow.

- Let’s stick to the stick for now.

We laughed hysterically.

- Oh man, that wind was cool.

- It was…

- Hey, look at Barnie! He’s flying upside down!

- Hahaha! The fool! He obviously got too much air in poor little brain… Strange though as I thought it was already pretty windy…

- You guys are the fools – retorted Barnie. You don’t even realise you are flying upside down. Look up! What do you see?

- The sky.

- You’re looking down!

- We’re not! You’re not going to teach us where’s up and where’s down!

- Whatever.

- This guy’s a loonie.

- Barnie’s a loonie.

- Loonie Barnie!

- Let’s go back up – or down as Barnie would say – to escape him.

- Yeah, let’s hitch a ride on this beautiful wind and travel on to paradise…

As a matter of fact Cookie and I thus became migrants, the day we misjudged the force of the wind and ended up in a region completely unknown to us. As this was the third day of our lives and we calculated it would take us at least two days to get back, we just thought what the hell and ventured to explore this new region. Aaaah, what a lark! Instead of a stale pond, Cookie and I now got to roam a free-flowing river, whose banks were full of sheep and cows, the latter sometimes coming into the river bed to drink, and whose water surface and stagnant-ish nooks had attracted slightly weird but very friendly mosquitoes belonging to a tribe never before encountered. These outlandish folks were on the whole bigger than us, yet we never felt physically threatened among them. Indeed for the first time in my life – and I was already middle-aged, having lived near-on three days – people there viewed my eccentricities not only with tolerance, but even with jocular interest. For instance they all applauded, boys and girls, my habit of decorating my garb with petals of minuscule flowers, preferably pink or purple. Back home, they used to tut and taunt me for that. Also in my new abode they did not give two hoots that I’d had no children whatsoever: in fact they did not even ask! In our birthplace, what people immediately asked when they met you for the first time or if they hadn’t seen you for a while, be them young males, matriarchs or dying old geezers, was if we had had many offspring… Confound them! But here at last, in that new paradise, no such intruding in my private life!

All that momentous and joyful day of our sudden uprooting and the next, Cookie and I went cruising along our new playground with blissful relish, making new friends a dozen, discovering new games involving cows or frogs, flying high and low, talking absolute rot in deadpan seriousness… It was pure happiness. On the closing of our second day there though, something unexpected happened.

Cookie and I had been rather wary of the females there, although I confess they seemed a lot less overbearing than the ones in my tribe. Cookie of course liked to consort with them every now and again, which was not an issue as whatever they did was over so quickly... He had made the acquaintance of quite a few ladies and professed  himself especially happy with them, in comparison to the ones at home. Still I myself was not enticed… Then, on that day, as dusk was approaching and we were speedily heading to our bat shelter, Cookie got talking to that lady called Rita, who was going the same way. As always, I kept myself aloof but could not help noticing that Cookie did not seem to find his usual smooth flow of small talk with that girl. He rather stumbled on his words and was making, in my view, a right fool of himself. Rita was quite different from the rest of the mosquitas, although it was difficult to put a finger on exactly what made her so special. There was a wild grace about her, her smile was beautiful and a bit scary. Still, I was quiet as always, never had a female spoken to me and I had no intention to change that. So I guess it was testimony to her specialness that she suddenly asked me what my name was.

- Tickler – Cookie promptly answered, knowing full well I usually do not bother to do so myself.

- Can’t he speak for himself? Hey Tickler, ’that really your name?

- Sure – I replied, much to my own surprise.

- Why do you keep so quiet?

- Not much to say – I mumbled.

- That, I see! But I’m sure there’s more to you than you’re letting out. Do you find me so repelling?

- As a matter of fact, I do not.

- You sound surprised.

- I am.

- Why?!

- Because, I don’t tend to find ladies very approachable, if I may say so.

- You mean you find them gross?

- A bit.

- I do too! All that blood-sucking obsession for breeding is frankly disgusting!

- Are you serious?

- Do I look like I’m not?

- No.

- There you go!

- Well Rita, I sure am glad to get to know you.

- It’s my pleasure, Tickler!

After this we flew on in harmonious comradeship to our hiding, where we snugly settled, the three of us together slightly apart from the rest. I was baffled, I am not too proud to admit. So I asked a series of what must have come across as the dumbest of questions, like:

- So Rita, do you not want to have children?

- Weeeell… Maybe one day… I’m not sure… It will depend on whether I find the right incentive…

- How do you mean?

- Someone attractive. To have sex. You know the way it works, right?

- I know I know… In theory at least…

- What!!! Only in theory?!

- Why yes.

- Ha! Like me then. Interesting…

- There is a major difference though.

- Which is?

- You ladies only have sex once in your life. Whereas we can have it all we want. Which makes me even more pathetic in everyone’s eyes I suppose.

- Well actually I believe this is rubbish, if I like it I’ll have it as often as I want. The thing is that other females only want to reproduce, and for that once is enough… And you’re definitely not pathetic.

- Thanks.

I must say that, when she said these last words, my legs, and generally my lower half, tingled pleasantly, and Rita somehow appeared to notice it.

Anyway, time passed until it was full night and the first wave of bat attacks had by then subsided. This is when female mosquitoes go hunting, and that’s what happened: they all repaired to the farm buildings nearby, in search for fresh blood. I looked on in surprise as Rita prepared to leave too.

- I thought you did not like or need blood?

- Hush! Come with me if you want.

So I went along with her, unsure where that was going to end, taking Cookie with us. When we were out of the tribe’s earshot – we had taken a different direction to the other females – Rita explained that she could not stay the only female with the boys, or they would just rape her. So she always went out, even though she did not lust for blood.

- Isn’t that a bit lonely? – I asked.

- Yes, sometimes. But now you guys are with me!

And she seemed so joyful that again, my frame tingled all over.

We went along quite some way, conversing amicably. Even Cookie had lost his odd constrained manner with Rita. It felt so natural that I had to cry out:

- Hey Cookie, Rita, why should we come back? We don’t need anyone else, we could just explore the world the three of us, right?

- Sounds good to me mate.

- I agree.

So that was that. We now were like a family. How jolly the following hours were! However unfair life is and may have been for me, I still can boast to have had these few hours of absolute felicity. Half a day in a seven days’ life may not seem much, but it is the equivalent of five years in a seventy-years’ life. Ok, I suppose it still does not sound very much… However, a mosquito’s life, in addition to being naturally brief, is extremely dangerous and generally quite wretched. One cannot be too demanding.

I will not bore you with the details of that night. After all, it is like several of your years, relatively, so there would be a hell of a lot to recount. I will only say that it was magical, serene yet eventful… We met lots of cool people, saw some pretty astonishing landscapes, had the most amazing conversations, invented the stupidest games and, crucially, did not run into any danger – apart for once, when an owl attacked us and the group of mosquitoes we were with. But Cookie, Rita and I emerged unscathed from this onslaught and later from the night.

After such a long time in the darkness – imagine if your nights lasted three or four years! – it was a dazzling miracle to be able to fly once more into the rising sun. The sky had first taken on the greyish cadaverous hue of a slowly materialising shapeless corpse, before little by little gathering force, substance, colour and turning white-hot and then a range of pretty shades of light, from pink to red, and orange, and yellow… As the sky and the sun came to life, we felt we, too, were being born again, and the world around us! There was a softness in the air, quite distinct  to the sharp coldness of the night breeze, which made it like flying on cushions… Trees and plants were becoming animate after their long and menacing spectral sleep, and we expected them to speak to us any minute… New noises kept rising from the receding blanket of darkness: the chattering of birds, the brushing sounds they made when moving among the leaves, the pattering and shuffling of badgers and moles, squirrels and mice, hedgehogs and marmots… Even if most of these would eat us if they had the slightlest chance, we could not refrain from being mysteriously glad of their presence and fascinated by the grand tableau they conjured up all together in the warm light of the awakening day.

Our elation reached such heights that our flight had to match it. We went up and up and up into the attractive skyline, little thinking that a clear dawn means great visibility for predators. Perhaps we felt over-confident as well, having easily survived for so long, and being part of such a multitude – we had joined a large cloud of mosquitoes. Be it what it may, when peril landed on us we were not prepared to receive it. As if coming out of nowhere, two blackbirds, travelling at the speed of light, traversed our cloud in a flash, snatching front, right and left, gobbling dozens, and returned again and again into our panic-stricken lot, soon not a cloud any longer but small scattered groups of lost creatures flying erratically in circles with little chance to escape. Now, Cookie, Rita and I had a plan for such situations: to fly down in a straight line to seek refuge among the vegetation. So when the attack occurred, I descended as fast as I could and, amazingly, managed to safely reach the ground and find a little space behind the broken bark of a tree, where I hid for what seemed an eternity.

I eventually dared to come out in the open – one has to live, hasn’t one? Even if it means dying in the effort… I made silly dashes in many directions, calling out for my friends, to no avail. I was conscious of lacking method but too upset to address the issue. For a good couple of hours I searched and searched and searched, in vain. Remember, dear reader, a couple of hours for me would represent a few months for you… In the end, disheartened, I decided to pick on a course and follow it, wherever it may lead me, preferably to end of my existence…

- Tickler! – I suddenly heard.

It was Rita! I was absolutely overjoyed. We hugged! If you can picture two mosquitoes hugging, you will understand that it was pretty awkward. Still, that tingling sensation came over me again and I was stronger and braver all of a sudden.

- Cookie? – I asked.

Rita sadly shook her head.

- He was taken…

That was a hard blow on me. Cookie was like a brother to me, almost like a part of me! We had always been together, from egg to larva, larva to pupa, pupa to papa for him, bachelor for me… I felt like someone had ripped apart half of my body. There was that dreadful sense of void, an aching emptiness that can never heal as it is non-existent by definition… Rita and I quietly and sorrowfully flew on, seeking solace in pastures anew…

At length we reached a small cop, in the middle of which sparkled a narrow but deep pool. Its dark water appeared to be covered in a silver glitter that caught the slanting rays of the setting sun. Rita and I both liked the beauty of the spot and judged it to be safe. There were other mosquitoes around but it was not overcrowded. A little hollow rock, somehow filled with water, caught our fancy and we landed there to rest awhile. Now you will find me strange, and my behaviour hard to explain, when I tell you that no sooner had I stopped flying that, instead of enjoying the rest and even though I was knackered, I was suddenly overcome by an all-powerful tingling restlessness, somehow connected to Rita resting next to me. She must have sensed something, for she asked me:

- Are you ok Tickler? Why are you looking at me like that?

- Rita, have you ever thought of… I mean not to have children, but just for the sake of doing it…

- For the pleasure you mean?

- Yes.

- But what are you talking about?

- Sex, Rita.

I realised I had been provoked, but I could also see that beyond her smug mirth lurked a seriousness of intent. And I was right! Damn it! Before I, we, had time to even think about what and how, we were at it! A pretty long time too, although I say so myself: a good half a minute. I know a lot about that, thanks to dear Cookie who had a weird propensity to recounting his sexual exploits in details. In fact, comparing what we had just experienced to Cookie’s tales, I was perpexed by quite a few differences. But as Rita and I did not have any real experience to compare it to, we concluded he was just not very good at describing. Anyway, it was jolly good, I thought, and Rita agreed, so we did it again, and again… Then we sort of drifted into a contented snooze…

When I woke up, the whole world was of a different colour. I mean, of course it was not, but it was! It is hard to explain, it is like when you wake up from a nightmare and it still taints your reality with its shades of fear, gloom and apprehension. Well just then it was the same, except that the nightmare did not end when I woke up: it began. The first thing I noticed was that Rita was further away from me than she had been when we nodded off; and that she was facing me, when before she was trustingly by my side. Then her eyes: they were odd, watching me with a mixture of awe and hatred.

- Don’t come near me! – She hissed.

- What’s wrong?

She did not reply. She kept giving darting looks in a couple of fixed directions, as if surveying something. Suddenly she departed.

- Don’t follow me.

She disappeared into the night. I was at a loss to understand what had come over her. As for me, I was also different. My libido had been awakened and I needed to satiate it, which was surprisingly easy to do. After contributing for a while to the future of our species, I went back to our rock just as Rita was landing there. To my utter dismay and disgust, I saw a drop of blood fall from the rear I had so lovingly held not long before, and my darkest suspicion was confirmed: I had turned sweet, lovely Rita into a ruthless vampire! As soon as she perceived my being there, she turned on me and forced me away. I might have fought back, you may say, but what for? That rock was only my home if Rita wanted me there, and she did not. So I fled that cursed corner of the world to a good half a mile further, out of reach, to end my life alone – apart from the quick sexual intercourses with strangers interspersed in the midst of my sad peregrinations…

And now, my friend, I stand on my last legs, frail in my old age – although let’s face it, I was never the strongest – and I am about to live my last day, most probably, as I turned seven (days) this morning. I care not how it ends, I actually actively try to precipitate its coming by repeatedly flying into danger, but death has eluded me so far. I find it strange that I might die of old age when I lived such a risky existence. But is that a sparrow coming?