Mosquitoes on High Tides

Machete

Tom downed a bottle of Scotch the other night. I decided against scotch use. We drove down a muddy road for a about thirty minutes in the pitch black until we finally reached a very secluded beach town called Mompiche.

The lively town painted lights against the night sky as the low tide roared in the distance. I walked down the muddy streets looking for a place for us to camp. I walked to the very edge of town until I found a road to the left that went down to the beach. I went and found bus.

We drove down skeptically toward the beach, worried we would stick in the sand. We finally made it down the beach to the mouth of a river that was barely flowing into the bay. We made an assessment: that the river would bulge at high tide and we should park on high ground that was not in the way of flowing tides.

We thought we found a good place and made some tuna pasta and sat around the fire.

We started to feel the bites. Soon, everyone itched and everyone started to cover themselves obsessively with the weakest and most worthless bug repellent known to the human race.

I was so tired after dinner. I began to fall asleep in my chair. It was time for bed. I went and laid down in the back of bus.

I looked down and saw, in the dark, sweaty bus, two mosquitoes salsa dancing on my left aeriola.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I said. They turned the music down.

In a high, mosquito buzzing voice, they said, "Bailando."

"No hablo espanol." I responded in a loud human voice.

"Dancing. How about you learn the language of the country you are visiting, you ignorant, stereotypical American fool." The female mosquito said and then she bit me on my nipple.

"Ow" I smacked her, crushing her entire body, covering my nipple with blood, human blood, my blood.

"Now...you have done it, you agressive piece of shit, that was the love, mi amor." The male mosquito said as he flew away.

Instantly, I was covered from bald spot to sole with more mosquito bites than I ever had.

I left the bus. Matthias and Tabita were sitting by the fire. They couldn´t sleep either. The mosquitoes were bad. I don´t know whether the mosquitoes wrath was caused by murdering the poor mosquito´s wife or because, I found this out in the daylight after a long, sleepless battle with invisible enemies, we had parked next to about seventy-five stagnate puddles of fresh water caused by the high tides.

The next morning after none had slept, Alaena emerged from her tent with about twenty-five bites on her face. I have never really seen anyone with that many bites on their face.