I remember that first episode about a month ago. The predator has occupied our nights ever since, and has given rise to strategies and tactics that I’ve never had to consider before. The bites have lingered for weeks, spawning must-scratch-right-this-very-second itches at random moments, and leaving pock-marked arms and legs from the frantic, no-holds-barred gouging that constitutes the only release from itching hell. A stinging pain, as it turns out, is a less deranging prospect. At one point one of my fingers sported 5 different bites, each one calling louder to be scratched than the others.
I took several paths of attempted remedial action – went upstairs, they were there already. Downstairs? Already checked in. Even slept outside a couple of nights – this worked fine while it was windy, but as soon as the wind died, all resistance faded, and I became a smorgasbord once again.
After weeks of enduring their barkless bite without being able to identify the transgressor, we finally found the culprit – a tiny, transparent-winged fly-like thing, somewhat like a midge. Its crude and basic shape and proportion make it look like it was designed by an apprentice caricaturist.
So we patrolled the walls of our bedroom before going to sleep, decimating the population to the best of our ability. But they’re elusive, these skin-piercers, they’re hard to see, and they’re soundless, so our efforts invariably fell short. The bite-fest continued.
It even became a talking point in a few of our circles, such is their pervasive and penetrating effect on the population. One friend says that he rubs himself with insecticide spray before going to bed – no thanks. Another said that they’d be gone by July – false. We heard too that 5 years ago they weren’t around. This last item is particularly worrisome – what else might we be breeding with our new ways of doing things? Will they be worse next year?
Regardless of the empty consolation and untenable remedies, the onset of night and the prospect of going to bed – once a welcoming kingdom – became a dreaded ordeal. So we took action – we bought fans. The point? Cover ourselves with sheets (the fans cooling us enough to endure the hot night under covers), and provide a layer between us and them. Of course they’re also determined, these blighters, not to mention being equipped with deadly accurate heat-seeking radar, and soon our foreheads, ears, and cheeks – the exposed bits – were sporting similar scars to our now-covered limbs.
It seemed that there was simply no escape – we were doomed. But then something strange happened. The itching became less intense, at least for me. Friends that arrived to stay seemed to be going through the same early-stage desperate scratching as we did, but somehow it seems as if I’ve build up a mild immunity. I’m still getting bitten, but they don’t itch nearly as much. I’m not sure if it’s me, or it’s them. Or perhaps it’s this cooler, windy spell we’re having.
Needless to say, I’m hoping it’s an immunity. But it’s not over yet, and so I’ll not hold my breath.
And even if the immediate irritation has passed, there are other flies to fry. Maria’s taken to collecting their corpses. Yes, it is a little strange, but then you see, she’s going to … well, that would be giving it away, wouldn’t it?
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