Una zanzara.
Last night around midnight a zanzara entered my bedroom through a gap in the screen and began to suck my blood from a vulnerable exposed point on my upper right arm. I was in a state of semi-consciousness at the time from heat, humidity, and Pinot Grigio. I could feel its pincers burrowing into my flesh and its high-pitched sound resembling that of a minuscule propeller reaching maximum rotation. The zanzara had already ballooned to the size of the Graf Zeppelin when I managed to swat it with my left hand. This morning a puddle of semi-dried blood covered half my pillowcase and a substantial corner of my bedsheet.