The Blood Heist

"What are we going to do?" asked one mosquito of the rest. The swarm hovered, their wings droning loud in the quiet evening.

"They can't all be wearing that crud," replied another.

"I dunno... Every year, more use those sprays," chimed in a doubtful third. A chorus of agreement buzzed through the swarm.

Suddenly, a prime target approached. Clad in shorts and tank top, and without any scent of a spray, the teenager was a mosquito magnet; a human buffet.

They attacked together as she sat down to eat and sip at an outdoor cafe table. Stealthily, they made their landings - they even waited for others to land before they all began to pierce the teen's skin. Once they started, however, the teenager quickly noticed the sharp, feeding stings. She stood up and began hectically swatting at any and all mosquitoes she could find.

Once she was sure they had left amid her flurry of swatting motions, the teen sat back down, already itching at the bite sites.

A lone mosquito stuck around a little longer. The teen didn't notice at first, but once she did, she instantly slapped the back of her neck.

But the mosquito got away.