My Metamorphosis.

         I awoke, one God-awful morning, to find my body contorted into a monstrous beast. I tried to crack my thumb--as I do, well, did, every morn--but couldn't, for I bore no fabled thumb. I tried to roll my legs onto the floor but my whole body rolled with and I landed on all fours but I was thus arranged as to feel entirely normal as such. I cocked my head and gazed into a wall-sized pane of glass and beheld a furry thing, bestial in manifest, horrid in appearance. Was it me? No, there's no chance. I jumped around and saw the other wall, and no beast; it must have vanished.

         My mother came to awake me for school and said, "Son, wakey, wakey, it's time to get up." I, however replied in a strange voice that was not recognized by myself--a combination of a howl and a growl. "Boy, get up. I'll get father in here--" Father blatantly interrupted.

         "What's wrong with him? Not waking up?"

         "Well, he's up for sure, but I don't know what he's saying; sounds like he wants to be a bear or a wolf."

         Father raps upon the door once and I didn't answer--how could I? He would have jumped at me like a lion to a gazelle, a crocodile to a buffalo. He raps twice again, and I don't move an inch, only howl. I'm not sure what I meant by the howl, but I definitely meant it. Father again rapped thrice, but didn't wait for an answer; he threw the door open and gasped. Mother screamed. I growled this time. Our dog--a mastiff--rushed forward and smelled me out, I suppose I smelled as usual for he attacked not.

         For a quarter of an hour Father looked me over. And for another quarter hour he laughed to tears at what I've become. It was a relief--to say the least. No sooner had he stopped laughing did he begin to call folks over to see what has become of his son. First, his sisters and their husbands, then the whole neighborhood--well, only the neighbors we liked.

         Some were certainly frightened, and I took advantage of them. Hah, the humor of it. I imagine this is what it must be like to be a lion in a zoo, or a bear in a circus: laughing at the pitiful people.

         But, I was never allowed to leave my room. Mother and Father emptied it out completely, and hastily. To my dismay they changed my diet, whereas before I would have eaten meat every day, now I consume it only once a month and always raw. They never explained why; yet, I wouldn't explain diet to a beast either. The food was horrible, I couldn't eat.

         I suppose the penalty for being too picky is quite harsh, for in addition to loneliness and boneyness, I experience long bouts of constipation--yes, I was surprised too--and nausea--believe me, I was as confounded as you. But for six months I lived as such, in my empty room with my empty stomach and an empty mind hoping for freedom.

         It was one God-awful morning that I awoke, belly up, and cracked my thumbs. I then cracked them twice, and then thrice, but it wasn't too nice; for after, I breathed my last, and thus passed on.