![]() How ill-formed it was! Worse than ill-formed. Samsa looked down in dismay at his naked body. But he struggled through, marshalling his strength, until, at last, he managed to sit up. My God, Samsa thought, how long have I been lying here? His body protested each move. His spine emitted several low and sickening cracks in the process. Unable to withstand the pain any longer, Samsa put his elbows on the mattress and, bit by bit, pushed himself up. ![]() And how did he know that? Perhaps someone had whispered it in his ear while he lay sleeping? But who had he been before he became Gregor Samsa? What had he been? All he knew was that he was now a human whose name was Gregor Samsa. Samsa had no idea where he was, or what he should do. The only thing that remained was his solitary bed in the center. Yet now all vestiges of human life had been stripped away. The room had perhaps once served as a normal bedroom. The walls were covered with wallpaper of a complex design, but it was so old and faded that in the weak light it was next to impossible to make out what the design was. Nor could he make out any rug or carpet on the floor. No painting, clock, or mirror on the walls. He could see no furniture, apart from the bed on which he lay. Still on his back, he slowly turned his head and examined the rest of the room. Why was the window barricaded in such a rough fashion? Was a major storm or tornado in the offing? Or was it to keep someone from getting in? Or to prevent someone (him, perhaps?) from leaving? An inch or so of space had been left between the horizontal boards, whether on purpose or not wasn’t clear rays of morning sun shone through, casting a row of bright parallel lines on the floor. There was a tall window on one side of the room, to his left, but its curtain had been removed and thick boards nailed across the frame. It fulfilled its structural role but aspired to nothing further. It had no ornament, no defining characteristic. Years of dust and dirt, however, had given it the color of spoiled milk. ![]() Once, it had been painted white, or possibly a pale cream. The ceiling seemed to be a common, everyday ceiling of the sort one might find anywhere. ![]() It took time for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. He lay flat on his back on the bed, looking at the ceiling. He woke to discover that he had undergone a metamorphosis and become Gregor Samsa. ![]()
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