Sigrún Gudbrandsdóttir’s

A story about seeking answers, but forgetting to ask questions.

Sisimka is the daughter of a former vice president. She is also an outcast because of her freckles. She lives in a small cabin inside the walls of a big hotel building, along with other freckled people that come out of the walls to work as free servants.

Sisimka used to be a freedom fighter, but now
she never leaves her cabin. An intelligent mosquito species also live and breed inside the walls. These insects form addictive and lethal relationships with their human victims. To Sisimka, this relationship feels like freedom.


The insect was the size of a small dog. It balanced carefully down the length of her arm. For each step it sank deeper into her flesh and her skin retracted in expectation.

The insect’s trunk examined her chin and lips before stepping onto her face with little kisses, tasting her skin until it stopped close to her eyelids. The she mosquito touched the thin skin and felt the quick movements of the eye below. It was as if it was waiting for her permission.

No, not yet.

She placed her hands on its back body, carefully, and placed it on her chest, it’s head turned away from hers. The six feet balanced on the shaky ground of her breasts while she stroked its wings. Her other hand fumbled through the folds of the blanket looking for the glue, but too late.

Suddenly moving, the insect found its way down. The open wound was still there right above the pubic bone where all nerves meet. Small rivers of blood were already streaming, mixing with the other streams. The mosquito stabbed her fiercely. The pain felt like it drilled right through her bone, but the first injection numbed her and detonated the shattering that she was longing for. As the mosquito drank out of her, it’s poison exploded inside her. She looked up into the fractal mirroring of quivering insect wings between pale legs. Chains of words and sentences floated inside her.

If I die, she dies. Does she understand this? Who knows what a mosquito thinks.

Only our species are dangerous to each other. Her and me, we are not.

Pulsating slowly the insect spurted into her three more times. Her eyes had been closed for a while.

©Sigrún Gudbrandsdóttir & TOVES