The Mosquitoes’ Price

My ground-floor unit came with a spacious patio, and for three years, Id poured my life into cultivating one thing: the roses. Every May, they were a cascading tapestry of color and scent, and the entire subdivision was drenched in their perfume.
The HOA notice came in: A joint complaint signed by 260 homeowners demands the immediate removal of your rose wall, citing inadequate light.
I laughed. A cold, flat sound. They lived on the seventh and eighth floors. Did they think the roses could climb to the sky?
But I followed the instructions anyway.
The following summer, the mosquito population in the subdivision exploded. It was biblical.
The HOA group chat was a disaster zone: "Why are there so many mosquitoes this year? We cant even open our windows at night!"
The property manager slid into my DMs: "Ms. Willow, is there any way you could possibly plant the roses back? We understand that particular variety may have acted as a repellent..."
I smiled and closed the heavy, custom-fitted screen door.
1
The cold light of the phone screen illuminated my utterly calm face.
In the homeowner's group chat, the property manager's postthe one specifically tagging mewas pinned there like a cold, official decree.
@Willow Hayes, regarding the climbing rose wall in your patio at 101, we have received a joint complaint signed by 260 homeowners demanding its immediate removal.
Official. Courteous. But radiating an unassailable, collective pressure.
260 households.
Our entire subdivision held just over three hundred.
The number felt like a granite boulder slamming into my chest, provoking not a splash of distress but a sharp, mocking laugh.
I had cultivated this rose wall for three years.
From bare, muddy soil to the current, vibrant waterfall of blooms, the effort and devotion Id poured into it felt no less than raising a child.
Every May, the thousands of flowersa living cascade of blush pink and crimsonwere a flowing tapestry that drenched half the neighborhood in its perfume.
Now, it was a liability. A menace.
A bright red profile picture flashed in the chat. It was Brenda, our community social committee leader, a middle-aged woman running on pure, overweening social committee energy.
@Property Manager! Yes! It must be cut down! We homeowners are suffering!
Her comment was the match. The group chat instantly became a powder keg.
This rose wall has three major offenses! Brendas voice felt like it was shrieking through the glass, carrying an undeniable, aggressive authority.
First, it blocks the light for our high-rise units! That huge wall is blotting out the sun!
My neighbor from the seventh floor chimed in immediately: Exactly! My unit loses sunlight in the late afternoon now!
I almost laughed out loud.
My patio faced the north side of the building. The roses barely reached the second-story window ledges. They were blocking the sunlight for the seventh floor? Did they think the sun rose from the asphalt?
Second, it attracts vermin and insects! Its terrifying! What if rats or snakes get into our units? This is a severe safety hazard! Brenda continued her performance.
Right! Right! Last week I swear I saw a dark shape dart across the lawn!
Its horrifying! Imagine if a child got bitten!
I narrowed my eyes, my finger hovering over the screen.
In three years, I hadn't seen a large moth, let alone a snake, in my garden. The unique fragrance of the roses was a natural insect repellent.
Third, and most important! Allergies! My grandson is only five, and every time we walk past that wall, he starts sneezing and breaks out in hives! If he develops asthma, who will be held responsible?
This linethe appeal to the health of the childrenwas a perfect, calculated strike against the soft underbelly of every parent and grandparent in the community.
Oh my god, that serious?
To have a personal hobby that endangers the whole communitys children is just selfish!
Cut it down! Immediately!
Dozens of profiles flashed, everyone claiming deep suffering, as if my rose wall was the root of all evil.
The same neighbors who had stopped by my fence, complimented the blooms, and inhaled the sweet fragrance with blissful expressions, had now transformed into vicious executioners, waving their keyboards to crucify me.
This was my community. A mob easily whipped into a frenzy.
I took a deep breath, my fingers tapping out a reply, my tone as detached as an outside observer.
Do you have evidence that my roses block the light for the seventh and eighth floors? Please provide simultaneous light contrast photographs. Has a snake or vermin entered anyones home? Please provide a picture or video. As for pollen allergies, please submit a specialists report confirming the allergen is the rose variety in question.
My reply was a bucket of ice water on boiling oil.
After a brief, stunned silence, the eruption was even more violent.
Brenda was momentarily speechless, then launched into a full-scale emotional attack.
How dare you speak to us like that, young lady? Are the collective feelings of this many neighbors not enough evidence? You are selfish! You prioritize your little hobby over the collective good of the entire community! Do you have any respect for your neighbors?
Seriously, young people today are so insolent!
One person against the whole communityand she thinks shes right?
Let her know: if she doesn't cut it, we'll do it ourselves!
The vitriol was a flood, rushing in with staggering force.
They had abandoned all pretense of logic, venting pure, unadulterated malice.
I looked at the ugly words, and my heart chilled, inch by inch.
Three years of neighborly good grace, of polite smiles and greetings, had been exposed as a complete joke.
My phone vibrated. It was a private message from Eleanor, the retired schoolteacher who lived in the unit next door.
Willow, dont let them get to you. These people are just bored and being used by Brenda. Dont take it to heart.
Eleanor was the only person who had offered me warmth in this cold, concrete jungle.
I sent back a Thumbs Up emoji, a calming signal.
Then, without another word, I began taking screenshots. Every single inflammatory comment, every ID, every profile picture. I saved them meticulously into a new folder labeled "Evidence."
The property manager messaged me privately again.
His tone was far more cordial than in the group chat, but the implied threat was sharper.
Ms. Hayes, look everyone is quite worked up. Were trying to maintain community harmony. If you dont handle this, they are threatening to take more aggressive action. It could get ugly.
Aggressive action meant trespassing, vandalism, a mob mentality.
They were using the logic of the bully to threaten me.
Fine. Perfectly fine.
I stared at the text for a long time, then typed a calm reply.
Understood. I will handle it.
I put my phone down and walked to the window, looking out at the mass of roses silently releasing their fragrance into the night.
The evening breeze rustled the leaves, the flower shadows swaying as if in a final farewell.
I smiled, a smile devoid of all warmth.
They wanted a world without roses?
Fine. I would give it to them.
02
The next morning, the sun was bright and clear.
I called the landscaping company I had contacted the day before.
Thirty minutes later, two men in work gear, carrying a full set of tools, arrived at my door.
Ms. Hayes, you need a trim and shaping? Your roses are stunning, a beautiful variety. A little trim will make them even better, the lead worker said, his eyes full of admiration.
I handed them chilled bottled water, my voice flat, without a hint of emotion.
Not a trim.
I paused, meeting their eyes.
A complete purge. Root and stem.
The smiles froze on their faces. They exchanged baffled glances, clearly not believing me.
Ms. Hayes, are you serious? This is a magnificent wall. How many years have you cultivated this? It would be a huge waste to cut it all down!
No waste, I said quietly. Just do as I ask. Dig up all the roots. Make sure nothing can sprout again.
Seeing my resolute stance, the workers, though clearly mournful, had no choice but to start.
The high-pitched whine of the electric saw quickly shattered the morning peace of the subdivision.
Just as I expected, before long, Brenda, leading a group of her associates, gathered outside my patio fence like vultures scenting blood.
Arms crossed, they stood there, ostensibly supervising, but their faces were alight with undisguised smugness.
Well, well. Finally decided to cut it down? Brendas voice was pitched high, loud enough to ensure every passerby heard her.
I knew it! Personal little feelings mean nothing when it comes to the collective good!
Exactly. Its so much brighter here now! Well have all this space to hang our laundry!
Forget laundry! I think this spot is wide open for a nice Zumba session tonight! Smooth concrete!
They chattered and cackled, shamelessly planning the use of the public space right outside my fence, acting as if it were already their property.
I ignored their clamor.
I stood to one side, watching the workers with a blank expression.
The thick vines were sawed off one by one. The wall of green that had embraced the fence came crashing down, a heap of broken branches and dying petals.
This was the landscape I had nurtured, pruned, and trained with my own hands for three years.
Now, it was being systematically dismembered and destroyed right in front of me.
My chest felt like it was being methodically sawed open by a dull blade, the pain so profound it had already gone numb.
I turned my back, not allowing anyone to see my expression.
Deeper on the roots, please, I commanded calmly. Every main root and lateral root must be removed.
Brenda and her posses cheerful shouts formed the hideous soundtrack to this execution.
Two hours later, the vibrant rose wall was gone, replaced by a patch of ugly, overturned soil.
It looked like a site of utter desecration, an open wound.
Brenda started clapping, and the group joined in with triumphant cheers, as if they had won a great and noble battle.
See? This is what harmony looks like! Everyone contributes! Brenda preened, looking at me like a victorious general.
I pulled out my phone and, in front of everyone, paid the landscaping crew their fee.
The workers shook their heads, mumbling a tragedy as they left.
I did not close the gate immediately.
I leaned against the doorframe and dialed another number.
Hello, is this Apex Windows? I need to book an installation for your highest-grade mosquito screens. Yes, for the entire house, kitchen and bathrooms included. The steel mesh security type. The best you have. How soon can you install them? The sooner the better.
My voice was low, but in the silence that followed the crowds chatter, it carried clearly to every ear.
Brenda paused, then burst into exaggerated laughter, as if Id told a hysterical joke.
Oh my goodness, she cut the flowers because they attracted mosquitoes, and now shes spending money on screens? Does she have cash to burn? What an absolute fool!
The women around her chuckled and scoffed in agreement.
I hung up the phone, slowly lifted my gaze, and looked over their heads into the distance.
Then, my eyes drifted back, settling finally on Brendas gloating face.
I offered her a slow, deeply meaningful smile.
There was no anger in it, no resentment. Only a hint of chilling pity that they were utterly incapable of understanding.
I said nothing, simply turned, and closed the patio door, sealing myself inside, shutting out their smugness and their scorn.
That night, under the cover of darkness, I opened a new package. Inside were several bags of black, grainy seeds.
I walked out onto the patch of desolate, upturned earth. Facing the cool night breeze, I scattered the unknown seeds evenly over the soil.
When I was finished, I brushed the dirt from my hands.
The game, I thought, had only just begun.

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