The Flight

based on Franz Kafka's "The Metamorphosis"

by Jennifer Bickley

Disclaimer: I dont own "The Metamorphosis", obviously. I do, however, really admire Franz Kafkas work, and I hope my mid-story continuation does his genius justice. If you havent read "The Metamorphosis", you probably wont understand this fic. I urge you to read it. We studied this short story in University level English, and its honestly one of the best stories I have ever read. Anyway, I hope you like it.

One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke up, he closed his eyes again, as he had done many for many mornings now, and hoped he was still dreaming. He slowly opened them again, to find, like he had for many mornings, that he was not. The nightmare that was his life was still not over. Gregor Samsa was still an insect.

He wasnt quite as gigantic as he had been since he had first awoken to find himself with two extra, skinny limbs and a hard, brown carapace. He didnt know how to account for the shrinking either; perhaps it had something to do with the apple still lodged in his back. At the thought of that, the aformentioned body part began to itch horribly. Gregor hated itches, especially since his legs were too short to reach most of the places where he got them. He sighed, mentally, although his mandibles were incapable of abmitting anything but a shrill squeal. When would this finally end?

Sunbeams filtered down through the dirty window, which, like the rest of his room, had collected quite a layer of grime and dust. Even so, the beams were enough to annoy his increasingly sensitive vision. He crawled under an old chair, one of the pieces of junk his family had lately taken to storing in his room, relaxing a little in its meager shade, and squeaked in pleasant surprise as a loose spring sticking out from the bottom of the chair poked his back in exactly the spot where he had that itch. For the first time since the incident with the apples, his back was beginning to feel a little bit better. Maybe today would be a good day after all! Maybe, just maybe, his sister would deliver his food rather than the old charwoman who lately had been bringing his "meals"; he had grown rather sick of her "dung beetle" comments. (He may be an insect, but he was sure he wasnt that kind!) Maybe, if his back stopped hurting for a while, he would try wall-walking again today, one of the only things he had actually liked about his metamorphosis, but something he hadnt been able to do on account of his pain for...how long was it now? Days? Weeks? Maybe even months? Gregor didnt know just how long he had been here now. Time just seemed to merge together, only the peroidic lightening and darkening of his window telling the difference between night and day.

That window...his only reminder that an outside world did, in fact, exist at all. He wondered for a moment, did anyone out there even realize he was gone? Did maybe some of the few co-workers he had occasionally struck a conversation with actually miss him, or was he just the topic of gossip for a week? Gregor "sighed" again. Of the two options, the latter seemed more likely. He closed his eyes (how many eyes he had he honestly didnt want to know). If Grete did visit, he would know.

Gregor awoke, hearing the click of the key turning in the lock, the slow creek of door. He poked just his head, being careful to keep it in the shadows, out from under the chair. Grete? No, it was just the charwoman, putting down a newspaper full of compost -- Gregors daily meal, although he hadnt been eating much lately.

"Come n get it, ya old dung beetle. Dont worry, you know I wont squash you." the old hag cackled. While not being particularaily fond of the old woman, she was the only human contact that Gregor had for quite a while, so they practiced a rough kind of friendship, neither gettting too close to the other. He crawled out from under the chair, a little disappointed to leave the confortable, back-scratching spring, and over to the paper, where today he was greeted by a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich (something his sister probably left lying around), some egg shells, carrot peelings and banana peels. He had eaten worse.

"Whew, I dont know what raises more of a stink, you or that garbage you eat." the charwoman exclaimed as Gregor emerged. "Ah, dont take it to heart - you still smell better than my son does on most days. Lousy drunken idiot. Why couldnt he had been a nice lad like you apparently were? If anyone deserved to be turned into a dung-beetle, it was that good- fer-nothin' bum, not you. Your sister tells me you used to be such a help, bringin' home the bacon and all that."

"Chhhhiiirppp". It was all Gregor could say, but at least it game him the sembelence of having a conversation with someone.

"Whew-ee! I think it's the banana peels..." the old woman complained again, and waddled over to the window. "I'm just gonna crack this here open for a while, get some fresh air in here."

Fresh air? Fresh air! Gregor inhaled eagerly. He hadn't smelled a breath of fresh air in in seemed like ages! He filled his lungs (or whatever he had that passed for lungs), smelling the sweet, somehow familiar smell of cut grass. Was it summer already, or maybe even a nice, warm spring day? He liked the spring. Spring was a time of renewal, of rebirth. Maybe even...

"Well, I'ds best be goin'. Don't you go flying away or anythin', at least not until I get me pay." The old woman, for a slight moment, almost seemed to smile at Gregor. Smile? He must had been imagining it. Even the old charwoman wouldnt smile at a creature like him.

Gregor finished almost all of his meal (except the eggshells, they were a bit too brittle for his mandibles to handle), then, for once, picked a spot on the floor, right in the unflitered sunbeams. Just what month was it anyway? April? May? August? Or a really unusually sunny February? It didn't matter. He was confortable and warm, and his back hadn't felt this good since before the...accident. He began to think, really think, and not just about his situation. He had already spent endless dark hours thinking about that. Leave dark matters to the shadows; this rare light was for more light thoughts.

Fly away? Just what did the old woman mean by that? He could stick to walls, but he couldn't fly...could he. Gregor had to admit, he had never actually tried to fly in his own body. From what Gregor could remember from primary school (besides endless hours of homework sitting at his old writing desk -- he missed that desk!) was that almost all insects could fly, even big clunky beetles. Well, he was a big, clunky beetle, the biggest, clunkiest beetle this world had ever known! (He had that to be proud of). Maybe, just maybe, what worked for the real insects would work for him too?

Gregor tried to move his back. It was a strange feeling, trying to open up his back, but Gregor had gotten used to strange feelings. He could feel what felt like a seam, running down the centre of his back, thankfully below where the apple was lodged. He twitched again...there! Something happened. He could feel the wind more strongly on his back now, it seeming more sensitive than usual, almost like the carapace was removed. Gregor turned his head as far as he could to his right, and caught in the corner of his eye something moving behind him. He strained to see...now he could see it, a large, brown object hovering behind him. Two, large brown objects, he knew. Those must be the halves of his back, or wing cases, whatever. That accomplished, he twitched again, moving unfamiliar muscles for the first time. After a few minutes of practice, he heard a buzzing sound behind him, and felt himself becoming lighter. He turned, catching part of his reflection in a cleaner part of his window. Two rapidly- moving, clear things stuck out behind him, under the hovering wing cases, and Gregor realized that he was hovering too! This was it! He did have wings! Real, honest to goodnes beetle wings, and he could fly!

Gregor squealled in happiness! He buzzed up to the ceiling, then sank low, skimming the floor as he zipped along, then up and over the old chair. This was much more fun than wall-walking, and while he flew, he hardly noticed the pain in his upper back at all. The wind must be doing the apple-wound some good. He sped towards the open window, and landed on the sill, gazing out at the world for it seemed, like the first time.

He was smaller than he thought he was; he could fit through the slit of the open window easily. Just sat there for a few moments, his wings occasionally flickering, and looked out onto the alien landscape below.

He never really appreciated before how much colour was in the world, but after months in dreary shadows, trying not to be noticed, the sights of the emerald green of the fresh grass below in his backyard, the bright pale blue of the sky, specked by fluffy white clouds, the reds and greys of the bricks of surrounding houses, and the strangely even more colourful than usual flowers, roses and lilies that he had thought were only one colour striped by dazzling arrays of shades overwhelmed him! And the sounds! Birds chirpping happily, traffic from the street, the wind rustling through the trees that grew like over-pruned sticks of brocoli in his neighbours yards. This world, just the simple, everyday garden world, with no crummy jobs, no stressful families...this world was paradise! Gregor couldnt wait to be a part of it again! After all, out in a garden, who would notice an extra bug?

But what about his family? His parents? Grete? What would they do without him? Gregor tried to ignore that little voice telling him that they had been doing without him for months now, and doing quite well, actually, with his parents working again and Gretes part-time job. That voice usually made him feel weak, pathetic, useless, but here, for some reason, it made him feel a little better. Maybe, just maybe, he could leave, and try to find some meaning for his new life. Out here, in this bright, beautiful, natural world, he was sure to find something.

Enjoying the sights and sounds of the world below, Gregor didnt notice the sqeaky protests of his door being roughly pushed open.

Gregor's mother entered, carrying a cardboard box full of odd things like old children's schoolwork, a baseball glove and hat, and other "garbage" or memories of the son who no longer existed to her. She dumped the box uncerimoniously onto the old chair, causing that confort-giving spring in the bottom to spring out even more and embed itself into the floorboards, making it now useless to itchy beetles. She was about to leave again when she stepped on one of the discarded eggshells. Cursing, bent down to pick the shellpieces out of her sock, when the glint of sunlight caught her eye.

"Whyd that old bat leave the window open? I've told her about those damn drafts a hundred times!"

With that, Mrs. Anna Samsa angerily slammed down the gates of paradise, not noticing when she caught a small, formerly happy beetle by his left wing.

He would never fly again.