Kelvin worked late amongst tropical, blood-starved mosquitoes as World Mosquito Day fell. The hour grew late; he was trying to get much deserved shuteye after a trying week at work.
But it was that darned bloodsucker. It kept performing aerial acrobatics above his head.
But had it —
Wrapped —
In his hand.
SQUASH.
A bloody smear on his palm. The airborne assasination succeeded.
A ceremonial, almost reverential silence followed.
And a soft murmur:
“Happy World Mosquito day.”
Then —
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
On the window pane.
So — the Insect Rally began —
With a clipboard-bearing mosquito taking notes.
An officer of the International Mosquito Welfare Association.
He had buzzed over to pay homage to the registered celebrant of World Mosquito Day —
Who had become —
A Helpless Victim.
He adjusted his black armband with the dignity that only professionally trained insect bureaucrats could muster.
“A serious matter.” He noted on his clipboard, the approximate size of a cellphone.
Kelvin was thereafter charged with
Unlawful and aggravated swatting;
Developing and maintaining a citronella environment;
***Indiscriminate application of Insect Repellent. ***
Kelvin refused to attend the ridiculous court.
But that was not an issue.
The court came to him.
The lights in his home flickered.
The white ceiling became black —
And moved.
The buzzing intensified.
From outside Kelvin’s window, a black, humming cloud.
12 mosquito jurors lined the window ledge. A Judge Mosquito settled at the top of the curtain. A prosecuting mosquito settled on the window pane.
Kelvin reached instinctively for his repellent.
The Judge Mosquito slapped her wings together.
“Any attempt at repellent use will be met with harsh consequences.”
Kelvin had to sit amongst mosquitoes —
Without harming a single one.
The prosecuting mosquito had in his hands —
Damning evidence.
The prosecutor’s proboscic twitched —
Too eagerly.
***Exhibit A: Pungent repellent. ***
Exibit B: Citronella candles.
***Exhibit C: A swatter, on which lay the bodies of previous victims. ***
An audible gasp rippled from the black cloud still hanging on the ceiling of Kelvin’s room.
Kelvin banged his fists on the table in protest.
He jabbed his finger at the offensive victim, now laying
in quiet repose in its swatter chamber.
A Buzzing Bailiff summoned a witness.
Who reluctanly attested:
“The deceased had been warned not to suck the blood of humans.”
12 wings convened for 12 hours.
When it finally returned, the courtroom fell completely silent.
The verdict was unanimous.
Not guilty by virtue of self-defence.
Kelvin put his face in his hands in utter relief. The black cloud left the ceiling slowly, still buzzing.
Kelvin lay back in his reclining office chair, relief loosening his shoulders.
Almost completely.
One mosquito stayed.
Bearing a cellphone-sized clipboard.
He closed the case file, then buzzed over to Kelvin.
He froze in front of the now-freed accused —
And hovered beside his ear.
And in a low, buzzing whisper, as he drifted from his ear to his arm —
“Court fees, sir.”
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt
