Her

She landed on his hand and he watched in fascination as the mosquito did an inventory of her choices. He’d read somewhere that mosquitoes can smell individual components in your blood.

“What are you looking for?” he spoke to the insect on his hand.

Almost as if answering him, she chose a blood vessel near his knuckle that his eye hadn’t even noticed. He was surprised how much he could feel her incision. He watched her drink and then pause, He wondered if it was out of instinctual doom. He imagined a briefing somewhere where she’d been warned that if you had a meal on a human’s hand, the probability of being completely squashed by the human’s other hand were in the ninety percent range.

“No risk, no reward,” he smiled, speaking to her again softly.

Seemingly satisfied, she buzzed away leaving his knuckle to break out in a large welt of immune response.