Purely for fun, with no offence meant to anyone
I am Buzzeldor, a proud descendant of the ancient line of Malibu Towne mosq-uitoes. We’ve lived in this lush enclave for generations, thriving amidst the greenery, serene ponds, and the oh-so-convenient open windows of careless humans. Malibu Towne, with its sprawling villas and green cover, is a paradise like no other, especially for a mosquito-like me. But our story is not without its troubles.
I remember the day I first spread my wings over the beautifully manicured lawns of Sector 47. My mother, Queen Stingabella, had told me of the endless opportunities that awaited me. The night was young, and the scent of warm, unprotected skin filled the air.
“Buzzeldor,” she said, “this is your kingdom now. You are the rightful heir to the airwaves of Malibu Towne. Go, spread your buzz, and take what is yours.”
As I flew through the cool night breeze, I passed by my old friends, Dartonus and Whizzara. They were enjoying a feast near Central Park, where the humans had gathered outside for a barbecue. Dartonus, the most daring of us, had already taken three good sips of blood and was flying in dizzy loops.
“Buzzeldor! You’re late to the feast!” he exclaimed as he darted around a sleepy child who had just nodded off in a lounge chair.
“Had to dodge a few humans swatting around in WW-17. They’ve become restless lately. But tonight—tonight is ours!” I replied confidently.
Just as we were about to dive into our feast, the sky darkened. A low, menacing hum filled the air. It was a sound we all dreaded: the defogger.
“NOOO!” screamed Whizzara, her wings trembling. “Not again! It’s the Unwanted!”
You see, humans have this obnoxious ritual they call ‘defogging.’ Every few weeks, these vile machines roll in, spewing thick, noxious clouds into the air. They think it will get rid of us, but little do they know, we always find a way back.
The younger mosquitoes, like Dartonus, would panic every time the mist approached. But the older, wiser mosquitoes, those like my mother, had learned to hide in the deep crevices of the old banyan tree, or beneath the gutters near the golf course. Still, it was an unpleasant experience.
“The Unwanted… they think they can erase us,” I muttered, hovering close to the ground to avoid the first wave of mist. “But we are the rulers of Malibu Towne. We shall endure.”
We took cover, watching as the humans celebrated the arrival of the defogging trucks. “They think they’ve won,” said Dartonus bitterly, wiping a drop of mist from his wings.
“They’ll never truly get rid of us,” I said, my tone resolute. “But we must be smart. Our time to strike will come again. Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we feast.”
As the humans danced in their victory, thinking they had reclaimed their lawns and patios, I huddled under a leaf with my fellow mosquitoes. The mist would clear, and when it did, Malibu Towne would once again belong to us.
Later that night, when the fog had lifted and silence returned, Whizzara, Dartonus, and I regrouped. We flew over the villas, now dark and peaceful. The humans had retreated indoors, believing they were safe. But I knew better.
“You see,” I said, turning to my companions, “the defogging is but a fleeting nuisance. Tomorrow, they will open their windows again. They’ll sit by the pool, relax on their terraces, and we—”
“—we shall rise,” finished Dartonus, his eyes gleaming.
And so, our buzzing symphony continued, a reminder to the humans of Malibu Towne that no defogging truck, no matter how strong, could ever truly claim victory over us. We are mosquitoes. We are eternal.
And Malibu Towne will always be *our* kingdom.
Fantastic story…Wish to read more of such fun stuff.