I haven’t posted in a while! Most of that is because I’ve spent the last time in places like the one I’m about to talk about. But I’m back in the United States!
I’ve written for you a story about Nicaragua. Its a something for you readers. I made it entirely out of words and it’s long. But don’t let it bog you down! Cartoons to come. Anyway…
When they land on a person, mosquitoes withdraw a small portion of blood, and, in its place, inject a tiny amount of pure, refined unhappiness. Most of it stays in the area around the bite, making a welt. The rest enters the bloodstream, spreading, throughout the body, a whisper of despair.
We go way back, mosquitoes and me. They remember when I first showed up to the jungle, their turf, with my bottles of 100% Deet, and they laughed at me.
But I got experience, and they got more vicious. I spent untold nights in Uganda sitting up, still, watching, trying to locate and destroy the ones that had slipped under my mosquito net. In a hammock in Guatemala, I covered up every inch of skin save my nostrils and lips, but they weren’t picky. They even gave me a bout with malaria, the bastards.
Mosquitoes eventually come to respect you, and with each new country, I proved myself. But with each new country, the war began afresh.
These were Nicaraguan coastal mosquitoes, hatched in the dens of vipers, raised on scorpions, and hardened by the salt air.
I didn’t even bring repellent this time, and they laughed at me.
Click to read the rest of the story!
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