The Mosquito
Does the mosquito ponder his life, while he tickles the small hairs on my forearm? Can he anticipate what actions are to come? Has he realized just how short his life will be? Feeling my motion, does the mosquito now regret choosing my arm to feed from? As the shadow of my hand consumes his vision, will the mosquito ask for God’s forgiveness. Will he swear to never drink from another human arm again? Would he dare make such empty promises? No, instinct and desire are all the mosquito needs.
By Ryan Podesta