Alpha Mosquito

I start with a cracked window and a simple bath, leaving the warm water to sit longer than usual. A single mosquito emerges, small and inconsequential. Another appears soon after. They breed, proliferating the room over the weeks as I observe in fascination. I procur steroids and bulk fuel to add into the water. The next mosquito is slightly bigger. Their sentience grows alongside their size - I force them to fight to the death for nutrients, the biggest and smartest survive and continues their blood line. A Roman coliseum of these creatures' strongest gladiators.

They take turns feasting on me. Afterwards, I have them wrap my whole body up in tight bandages to quell the stinging burn of the missing pockets of flesh. It’s good for the little ones to practice. I look like Swiss cheese by the end of every feeding. The cycle continues. Daughters killing mothers, fathers celebrating their victories while lamenting the deaths of their sons.

Finally, he arrives. This "Alpha" mosquito. Years of my own hard work, bloodshed and breeding, an endless cycle of in-fighting, breaking down the wills of the generations before him. Years of letting them poke holes in me to appease their needs. And there he is. My strongest, most intelligent creation.

This Alpha mosquito considers me his father, his ultimate creator. He grows a bit older, inevitably more curious - and this may be our downfall, I know it. He asks to see the outside world, of course. I tell him, “No, they wouldn’t understand you, my child.” He doesn’t get it. They tend not to. Still, I nurture him off my blood, allowing him more and more of me each time. I cradle his furry head against my breastbone tightly while he feeds, as a mother does to her growing baby.

His hunger expands alongside his beast-like form. Now he almost dwarfs the average man in height and width. One day he ventures outside without my permission. The neighbor's daughter, a small child, sees him and screams in horror. He pleads with her “Please, I mean you no harm little one.” Unaware of the blight he is to the world. All she understands is a low buzzing as he lumbers closer, exoskeleton hard and shiny, limbs long and nothing like hers. In the reflection of the bath tub all he sees is his mothers large inky eyes, his fathers long nose, his grandmother's strong wings. How can he explain this to her? He can’t. I forgot to teach him English.

Under the cover of night a special forces team shows up at my doorstep. Reports of an unidentified creature living with me, a strange buzzing at night and the smell of copper seeping through the crack at the bottom of the door. And of course, a scared little girl. “OPEN UP NYPD!” An incessant banging so violent the door shakes against its hinges. Who knows what they’re going to do if they find him? He’s special. He’s a monster. He’s mine.

But I - I know what I must do. “Come here.” I lead him into the bathroom as they continue busting their knuckles open on the barricaded door.

“What is it Dad? I’m sorry I went outside. I promise I won’t do it again. I’ll be good.” I cringe at the rattling hum that vibrates through the air whenever he tries to speak to me. He thinks I can understand him like he understands me. I say nothing, simply lead him to the still water of the bath tub.

“Can you turn the water on?” I ask him.

“Sure, is it feeding time?” He buzzes in excitement, his wings vibrating against him. I nod, getting his meaning.

His broad back is turned as he hums in anticipation while adjusting the water. Instinctively, my heart begins to beat faster and my skin gets warm. He finds adjusting the water tedious, it must be just the right temperature for my human body to be not so cold that the blood doesn’t flow as quick as he’d like it, but not so hot my skin boils.

With shaky hands I grab the hair dryer from the cupboard and turn it on the highest setting. A startled buzz, he turns around and I shove him into the bath and throw the hair dryer in alongside him. “Father, No!” He buzzes.

His large body crashes against the porcelain, it sounds like a thousand apples being bit in half. He lets out a symphony of incredibly loud, tortured buzzes, each building on each other until it’s like someone is crashing cymbals together on either side of my head. I shield my eyes and choke on the smell in the air as his wings and fur twitch and begin to burn away from the inside out.

My blood rushes hot inside me and I stumble out of the bathroom, the world slipping away at the edges. My son. My beautiful invention. Helicopter blades beat against the sky above my apartment, shining lights stream through my windows bathing everything in pure white rays, the sirens blare. It’s all come back to bite.