The small flying insect lands on the back of the woman’s neck, and before she notices its presence it sinks its small pincers into her skin. She brushes it away in annoyance and continues working on the paper she is writing.
An hour later, she is standing over the lifeless body of her roommate. The letter opener is still clutched in her hand, and hot blood drips from her fingers. The rage had been so intense, and the whispers had grown so loud.
The insect is now in a room down the hall, and has landed on a man’s shoulder.