The bodiless screams of a mosquito are more reliable than an alarm.

It brushes my skin, leaving goosebumps, like a child sticking their hand out, rusting the reeds as they run on top of a train track.

I do not know why the sound of a mosquito has that much effect on me.

Am I afraid of mosquitos?

No.

If you present one in front of me, I wouldn’t bat an eye.

Am I afraid of the unknown?

No.

I do not care for the unknown world enough to have an opinion.

Then why does the disembodied squeals of a mosquito rob me of my sleep?