The Sleep of the Wicked

20140811-225921It was too hot in the small bedroom for him to cover his entire body but whenever he tried to drift off to sleep with exposed skin, there would be a buzz and he would feel a little tickle of something landing on him in the dark. You’d think that he also had trouble sleeping because of his chosen profession as a con man, but that didn’t seem to be the case. The lives he had ruined by charming women into exposing their life savings didn’t haunt him at all. The only thing that had been keeping him awake for three days was the fear of getting eaten alive.

He had tried making sure that the window was sealed and added a screen to the front door. He had no idea how a mosquito could be getting in, but sure enough, every night, as soon as it was dark in his room, it would all start again. He would huff and puff, he would grunt and groan, and he would throw curses into the darkness as he swatted himself.

The curses, though, had slowly taken on an edge that sounded more like pleading as the nights without sleep dragged on. He was starting to break, and here I stand by his bed with a peacock feather, a kazoo, and a pair of night vision goggles that were worth every penny.


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