Mosquito-Stung Sniper: Genre Undetermined

A mosquito landed on his skin, and he gritted his teeth and ignored it. It sucked until he thought he could feel the pull through all his veins, but he didn't move a muscle. He had waited too long to get into position, belly-crawling by slow increments, moving less than an inch in fifteen minutes. He was suited up and kitted out, his rifle snugged next to his cheek and pointed at the target. He was a professional. He would not slap that damn mosquito, no matter how much he wanted to. He looked through the scope. In the green phosphorescence that night became when seen through his night-sights, he saw her moving around her apartment. Naked. He pursed his lips and whistled. Very nice.


Inspiration: All my damn mosquito bites.
Story Potential: High. Not because of this, but because of the various things my imagination took from it.
Finished Length: Short story...er, by which I mean probably novel.
Notes: Either she isn't the target, or she is, but he doesn't get to shoot her because he's about to get stung by a bug that isn't a mosquito, is actually a robot, and conks him out. This could be played straight as a thriller, or it could be sci-fi. I thought I was going to start with him getting bit by a robot bluebottle, but no...mosquitos pushed their way in where they weren't wanted, just like always.

Status Report

For the record, comments are welcome...no, solicited! Think an idea's not worth pursuing, but I've tagged it as high potential? Let me know. Want to know what happens next? Tell me!

This is, in many ways, an experiment.

Along those lines, yesterday I roughed out the plot for and began writing a story based on Crystal Shop Murder. That's the working title only, I assure you--it's going to end up with a clever title based on Feng Shui. Just as soon as I think of one. So far, the story's going quite swimmingly well.