The Buzzing Negotiator

He came for blood, but stayed for the conversation

Every evening, I light frankincense in a brass vessel, letting its earthy aroma drift through my home. It’s my peaceful little ritual, not just for the calming scent, but because it keeps the mosquitos at bay. Well, mostly.

Last night, I’m mid-procession, wafting the fragrant smoke from room to room like some incense-wielding monk, when a mosquito swoops out of nowhere and lands squarely on my ear.

“Hey!” he buzzes sharply.

I freeze. Did… did a mosquito just greet me? Before I can even react, he clears his throat—do mosquitos even have throats?—and says, “Got a minute?”

“What? No!” I whisper-shout, glancing over my shoulder. “Do you know how crazy I’ll look if someone catches me talking to a mosquito?”

“Relax,” he says. “Two minutes. Tops. I promise it’ll be worth it. You can even swat me after if you’re not convinced.”

Now I’m curious. What could this tiny pest possibly have to say? I lower my hand and sigh. “Fine. But make it quick.”

He settles on my ear, wings humming. “You probably think my life’s easy, don’t you? Floating around, sipping blood like some freeloading taste-tester?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Well, let me educate you,” he says, his voice taking on an earnest tone. “It’s a bloodsport out here. Wherever I go, humans treat me like the villain in a bad horror flick. My only crime? A little indulgence. Is that so terrible?”

“You bite people!” I hiss.

“I sip,” he corrects, sounding offended. “It’s not like I’m draining litres.

Evenings used to be our golden hour—soft moonlight, a little quiet, humans who weren’t on high alert. The moon was our disco ball, and you were our reluctant dance partners.”

I can’t help but laugh. “So, what changed?”

“You. Humans.” He sighs dramatically. “Now it’s chaos: smoke, traps, swatters. You’ve turned the night into a battlefield. I’ve had to adapt, venturing out in daylight like some desperate nine-to-fiver. If you see me buzzing at noon, I’m not joyriding—I’m trying to feed 3,000 eggs.”

“Sounds… stressful.”

“Stressful?” His wings buzz indignantly. “You have no idea. You humans are now armed with more gadgets than a James Bond movie.

One whiff from those devices that smell like a perfume factory exploded and suddenly I’m pulling off aerial stunts like I’m auditioning for Top Gun. And those electric rackets? Torture devices. And what about those spirally coils you burn? It’s like a mutual destruction pact. You choke yourselves just to get rid of us!”

“Fair point,” I admit. “But you’re not exactly innocent here. What about the diseases you spread?”

He sighs again, softer this time. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Honestly, I don’t. I’m just trying to survive, like you. Humans call themselves stewards of nature, but when it comes to someone small, like me? It’s slap first, ask questions never.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying we can coexist!” He sounds hopeful now. “I’m not asking for five-star dining or Wi-Fi. Just a drop or two to keep going. Think of me as a minimalist foodie with a delicate sipping technique.

Next time you feel a tickle on your arm, maybe pause before unleashing your inner Bruce Lee. Appreciate the circle of life—or at least my role in keeping your reflexes sharp.”

I chuckle. “You’re asking for tolerance.”

“Exactly!” he chirps. “I’m just a tiny creature trying to find purpose in this big, buzzing world. Maybe a pint of O-negative and a little gratitude for my efforts. And hey, is a tiny ‘Best Supporting Role in the Circle of Life’ trophy too much to ask?”

Before I can respond, my wife’s voice cuts through the air. “Who are you talking to?”

I panic. “Uh, no one!” I clap my hands to my ear, but the mosquito zips away with a triumphant laugh, yelling, “Diplomatic immunity!”

My wife peers at me, eyebrow raised, as I stand frozen with the brass vessel in one hand and my other hand on my ear. “Are you… talking to mosquitos now?”

I sigh, glancing at the faint wisp of frankincense curling upward. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I mutter. “It’s called listening to the other side.”

She walks away, muttering about “getting me checked.”

Meanwhile, somewhere in the corner, the mosquito is probably telling his friends about how he outsmarted the human with an emotional TED Talk.