Trying desperately, and failing to hide from painfully itchy, welt-forming, mutant mosquitos. I'm up at 4am, fearfully and feebly attempting to swat these acrobatic flies from the air. I swear to Zeus there's only one of them and it taunts me repeatedly; buzzing in my ear and dancing around my flailing hands as I sound my battle cry. Its basic human nature that I should want to protect my blood, but this rice sized vermine with wings is no humanitarian and will not heed in his quest to get at it.
Finally! After many attempts at bashing the bugger into my wall, I stun the good for nothing pest and squash it between my ring and pinky finger, triumphantly screaming out, "Ha! I fucking hate you!!".
Feeling shell shocked and damaged my eyes still dart about the room, scanning for guerilla militants who may have taken cover during the offensive. I pray that I've exterminated the lot of them.
D-day, will you come at last?
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