La Guerra a Firenze (The War in Florence)

Thursday 21 June 2007 22:44
Weary from travel from the mountains of Cortona to the city along the Arno, Firenze, my betrothed and I sink into a deep slumber. Our security is ensured by a trusted donna, our only oversight, a window left cracked to provide some fresh air. The breeze is slight, sweat beads on our motionless bodies.

Friday 22 June 2007 02:03
A noise close to my ear abruptly delivers me from the land of my pleasant dreams to that of my harsh reality. I sit up, my senses sharp. Alert, trying to locate the source of noise, but careful not to awake my partner unless necessary. Too late. She, too, rises, and soon we know our enemy: zanzaras. Scores of them. They have surrounded us. We decide to lay low and hope that they move on.

Friday 22 June 2007 02:18
It is clear that the zanzaras have visited us with bad intent. They have begun their attack. We swat: at our ankles, at our forearms, at our ears. Our attempts at defense are pathetic in the dark of night. A decision is made. We must begin an offensive.

Friday 22 June 2007 02:19
The room is bathed in light, and the zanzaras are given one last chance to escape into the open city. Few chose to flee, and the fate of the rest is sealed with the closing of the latch on the window. For 40 minutes we search an execute. None are spared. Some meet their end with a clap in my hands, their blood - our blood - covers my palms. Other sit on the wall and pray with their probiscus not to be noticed, but none pass my notices, and these are smashed to the wall with a bang. Still others need to be driven out into the open with the wave of our tovaglioli. Stirred from their hiding places, they come to death just as the others.

Friday 22 June 2007 02:59
Our simple room, meant to be a place of refuge, is speckled with the bodies of the dead. Splattered are the walls, the floors, our own selves. We are weary once more. The last of the zanzaras are found and destroyed. These were quicker than the others. Virgin zanzaras, yet to drink of the milk of humans, and so quicker in flight and much harder to secure. At last the war has ended. Once again, we take our places in the base. Sleep overwhelms us once more. But we know that this night, La Notte Delle Zanzare, will be remembered.