The Mosquito

Buzzby the mosquito wasn't like the others. He hated the itchy sting, the frantic
swats, the human curses that followed his every meal. It wasn't the blood he craved,
but the stories carried on those warm currents. He'd been dreaming of journeys ever
since a plump hiker shared tales of snow-capped mountains and emerald valleys.

Tonight, under the fat moon, Buzzby made his choice. He steered clear of the
slumbering campers, wings thrumming with a different kind of hunger. He found her
by the fire, the old woman with stories etched in the wrinkles around her eyes. As
she spoke of dancing shadows and whispering forests, Buzzby hovered close, the
firelight warming his tiny wings.

He learned of lost civilizations hidden in sun-dappled ruins, of talking animals

guarding moonlit pools, of mischievous spirits hiding in rustling leaves. Each bite
wasn't just a meal, it was a taste of adventure, a whisper on the wind propelling him
further.

Days turned into weeks, Buzzby a tiny shadow trailing the old woman through
whispering dunes and star-dusted plains. He heard of lovers reunited after centuries,
of brave children befriending dragons, of hidden waterfalls humming ancient songs.
His heart pulsed with longing, his wings itching for flight.

One evening, the old woman sat by the shore, eyes reflecting the endless ocean.
Her voice, softer than fireflies, spoke of an island beyond the horizon, where wishes
bloomed like flowers and dreams took flight.

Buzzby looked at her, then at the vast, beckoning sea. The moonlit path shimmered,
an invitation etched in moonlight. His buzz, usually a nuisance, became a whisper,
"Thank you."

Taking one last lingering sip, Buzzby soared toward the horizon. The ocean wind
ruffled his wings, carrying whispers of a thousand stories. He was more than a
mosquito now, he was a collector of dreams, a storyteller in his own right.

One day, perhaps, another restless soul, yearning for adventures beyond the
ordinary, might hear his buzz, a tiny echo of the old woman's tales, and take flight
themselves. And Buzzby, the mosquito who dreamt of journeys, would know his
story had found its wings.