War Journal 12: The Reluctant Host

My name is Legion, for we are many.

The weather changed here in Iraq.  Last night, it was humid.  A dust fog sat still and suspended in the air, giving the few hanging lamps that Exorcist feel.  Twelve foot tall concrete partitions stretched out in long lines, cutting the base into eerie avenues.  It is here that they breed.

Inside my room, which is a rectangular metal box about half the size of a shipping container, my air conditioner was fighting a heroic battle against the dust and the temperature.  It could not make much headway against the dual forces despite the loud, turbulent noise it created.  The air conditioner was too busy fighting for survival in this harsh desert to actually condition the air.

I have been here for awhile, and despite the fact that ‘awhile’ is relative, I felt that I have been here long enough to ascertain some concrete facts about my environs.  These concrete facts were assumptions, nothing more.  One assumption was that my room was cool and comfortable at night.  Another was if I didn’t leave the door open, mosquitoes would not get in.

But they got in.  Drawn to my hot, uncomfortable body they infilitrated like little ninjas, their compound eyes looking for the party.  They must have been a tightly organized outfit, or evolved into a hive mind, as they would only deploy one at a time.  I was busy trying to reach the point of just enough comfort… that threshold where you’ve acclimatized to the suck enough to meet your own exhaustion because that’s where a tortured soul can find sleep.  But as I lied down, I’d get a little more comfortable just to have that comfort bubble rupture as the histamine release in my foot would start itching like crazy.

I caught the little bastard, not so much red-handed as red bodied as I smeared the evidence of its recent meal.  It received the epitaph of “yeah, bitch,” as I again tried to find the point of just enough comfort.  Then the histamine fired off again.

I was up all night, killing one by one this elite team of blood drinkers.  Paranoia set in and I was jumping up any time I felt anything.  Since I was already nursing over a dozen bumps in various sizes and locations, I was always feeling something.  The random imagery that takes shape right in your mind as you hit the point of just enough comfort was no longer random for me; I saw man sized mosquitoes knocking on the door, five foot long needle noses eager to impale me.  It was in black and white, and I thought maybe this scene was from an old B-movie… if so I could understand the state of mind the guy was in who wrote it.

Long story short, if inspiration strikes, make sure it’s not because you’re tripping off of histamine.  You just may save the world from more B-rate horror.

Test results say: you ARE the father!

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3 Comments

Filed under War Journals

3 responses to “War Journal 12: The Reluctant Host

  1. Ajinu

    Mayday! Mayday! Man down! I’m sending in emergency supplies. Lemon eucalyptus oil, witch hazel and a pair of Birkenstocks so you can walk all over those little bastards! Post up son. Using castor oil will hold them off for a while. (giggles)

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