Draft: One morning when Gregor Page 1 of 3

One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his
bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a
little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections.
The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His many
legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he
looked. "What's happened to me? " he thought. It wasn't a dream. His room, a proper human
room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. A
collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table - Samsa was a travelling salesman -
and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and
housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat
upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer.
Gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather.

Drops of rain could be heard hitting the pane, which made him feel quite sad. "How about if I
sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense", he thought, but that was something
he was unable to do because he was used to sleeping on his right, and in his present state
couldn't get into that position. However hard he threw himself onto his right, he always
rolled back to where he was. He must have tried it a hundred times, shut his eyes so that he
wouldn't have to look at the floundering legs, and only stopped when he began to feel a mild,
dull pain there that he had never felt before. "Oh, God", he thought, "what a strenuous
career it is that I've chosen! Travelling day in and day out. Doing business like this takes
much more effort than doing your own business at home, and on top of that there's the curse of
travelling, worries about making train connections, bad and irregular food, contact with
different people all the time so that you can never get to know anyone or become friendly with
them. It can all go to Hell!

" He felt a slight itch up on his belly; pushed himself slowly up on his back towards the
headboard so that he could lift his head better; found where the itch was, and saw that it
was covered with lots of little white spots which he didn't know what to make of; and when he
tried to feel the place with one of his legs he drew it quickly back because as soon as he
touched it he was overcome by a cold shudder. He slid back into his former position. "Getting
up early all the time", he thought, "it makes you stupid. You've got to get enough sleep.
Other travelling salesmen live a life of luxury. For instance, whenever I go back to the
guest house during the morning to copy out the contract, these gentlemen are always still
sitting there eating their breakfasts. I ought to just try that with my boss; I'd get kicked
out on the spot. But who knows, maybe that would be the best thing for me. If I didn't have
my parents to think about I'd have given in my notice a long time ago, I'd have gone up to
the boss and told him just what I think, tell him everything I would, let him know just what
I feel. He'd fall right off his desk!

And it's a funny sort of business to be sitting up there at your desk, talking down at your
subordinates from up there, especially when you have to go right up close because the boss is
hard of hearing. Well, there's still some hope; once I've got the money together to pay off my
parents' debt to him - another five or six years I suppose - that's definitely what I'll do.
That's when I'll make the big change. First of all though, I've got to get up, my train
leaves at five. " And he looked over at the alarm clock, ticking on the chest of drawers. "God
in Heaven! " he thought. It was half past six and the hands were quietly moving forwards, it
was even later than half past, more like quarter to seven. Had the alarm clock not rung? He
could see from the bed that it had been set for four o'clock as it should have been; it
certainly must have rung. Yes, but was it possible to quietly sleep through that furniture-
rattling noise? True, he had not slept peacefully, but probably all the more deeply because
of that. What should he do now?

The next train went at seven; if he were to catch that he would have to rush like mad and the
collection of samples was still not packed, and he did not at all feel particularly fresh and
lively. And even if he did catch the train he would not avoid his boss's anger as the office
assistant would have been there to see the five o'clock train go, he would have put in his
report about Gregor's not being there a long time ago. The office assistant was the boss's man,
spineless, and with no understanding. What about if he reported sick? But that would be
extremely strained and suspicious as in fifteen years of service Gregor had never once yet
been ill. His boss would certainly come round with the doctor from the medical insurance
company, accuse his parents of having a lazy son, and accept the doctor's recommendation not
to make any claim as the doctor believed that no-one was ever ill but that many were workshy.
And what's more, would he have been entirely wrong in this case? Gregor did in fact, apart
from excessive sleepiness after sleeping for so long, feel completely well and even felt much
hungrier than usual.

One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his
bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a
little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections.
The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His many
legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he
looked. "What's happened to me? " he thought. It wasn't a dream. His room, a proper human
room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. A
collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table - Samsa was a travelling salesman -
and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine
and
Draft: One morning when Gregor Page 2 of 3

housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat
upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer.
Gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather. Drops of rain could be heard
hitting the pane, which made him feel quite sad.

"How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense", he thought, but that
was something he was unable to do because he was used to sleeping on his right, and in his
present state couldn't get into that position. However hard he threw himself onto his right,
he always rolled back to where he was. He must have tried it a hundred times, shut his eyes
so that he wouldn't have to look at the floundering legs, and only stopped when he began to
feel a mild, dull pain there that he had never felt before. "Oh, God", he thought, "what a
strenuous career it is that I've chosen! Travelling day in and day out. Doing business like
this takes much more effort than doing your own business at home, and on top of that there's
the curse of travelling, worries about making train connections, bad and irregular food,
contact with different people all the time so that you can never get to know anyone or become
friendly with them. It can all go to Hell!

" He felt a slight itch up on his belly; pushed himself slowly up on his back towards the
headboard so that he could lift his head better; found where the itch was, and saw that it
was covered with lots of little white spots which he didn't know what to make of; and when he
tried to feel the place with one of his legs he drew it quickly back because as soon as he
touched it he was overcome by a cold shudder. He slid back into his former position. "Getting
up early all the time", he thought, "it makes you stupid. You've got to get enough sleep.
Other travelling salesmen live a life of luxury. For instance, whenever I go back to the
guest house during the morning to copy out the contract, these gentlemen are always still
sitting there eating their breakfasts. I ought to just try that with my boss; I'd get kicked
out on the spot. But who knows, maybe that would be the best thing for me. If I didn't have
my parents to think about I'd have given in my notice a long time ago, I'd have gone up to
the boss and told him just what I think, tell him everything I would, let him know just what
I feel. He'd fall right off his desk!

And it's a funny sort of business to be sitting up there at your desk, talking down at your
subordinates from up there, especially when you have to go right up close because the boss is
hard of hearing. Well, there's still some hope; once I've got the money together to pay off my
parents' debt to him - another five or six years I suppose - that's definitely what I'll do.
That's when I'll make the big change. First of all though, I've got to get up, my train
leaves at five. " And he looked over at the alarm clock, ticking on the chest of drawers. "God
in Heaven! " he thought. It was half past six and the hands were quietly moving forwards, it
was even later than half past, more like quarter to seven. Had the alarm clock not rung? He
could see from the bed that it had been set for four o'clock as it should have been; it
certainly must have rung. Yes, but was it possible to quietly sleep through that furniture-
rattling noise? True, he had not slept peacefully, but probably all the more deeply because
of that. What should he do now?

The next train went at seven; if he were to catch that he would have to rush like mad and the
collection of samples was still not packed, and he did not at all feel particularly fresh and
lively. And even if he did catch the train he would not avoid his boss's anger as the office
assistant would have been there to see the five o'clock train go, he would have put in his
report about Gregor's not being there a long time ago. The office assistant was the boss's man,
spineless, and with no understanding. What about if he reported sick? But that would be
extremely strained and suspicious as in fifteen years of service Gregor had never once yet
been ill. His boss would certainly come round with the doctor from the medical insurance
company, accuse his parents of having a lazy son, and accept the doctor's recommendation not
to make any claim as the doctor believed that no-one was ever ill but that many were workshy.
And what's more, would he have been entirely wrong in this case? Gregor did in fact, apart
from excessive sleepiness after sleeping for so long, feel completely well and even felt much
hungrier than usual.

One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his
bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a
little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections.
The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His many
legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he
looked. "What's happened to me? " he thought. It wasn't a dream. His room, a proper human
room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. A
collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table - Samsa was a travelling salesman -
and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and
housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat
upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer.
Gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather. Drops of rain could be heard
hitting the pane, which made him feel quite sad.

"How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense", he thought, but that
was something he was unable to do because he was used to sleeping on his right, and in his
present state couldn't get into that position. However hard he threw himself onto his right,
he always rolled back to where he was. He must have tried it a hundred times, shut his eyes
Draft: One morning when Gregor Page 3 of 3

so that he wouldn't have to look at the floundering legs, and only stopped when he began to
feel a mild, dull pain there that he had never felt before. "Oh, God", he thought, "what a
strenuous career it is that I've chosen! Travelling day in and day out. Doing business like
this takes much more effort than doing your own business at home, and on top of that there's
the curse of travelling, worries about making train connections, bad and irregular food,
contact with different people all the time so that you can never get to know anyone or become
friendly with them. It can all go to Hell!

" He felt a slight itch up on his belly; pushed himself slowly up on his back towards the
headboard so that he could lift his head better; found where the itch was, and saw that it
was covered with lots of little white spots which he didn't know what to make of; and when he
tried to feel the place with one of his legs he drew it quickly back because as soon as he
touched it he was overcome by a cold shudder. He slid back into his former position. "Getting
up early all the time", he thought, "it makes you stupid. You've got to get enough sleep.
Other travelling salesmen live a life of luxury. For instance, whenever I go back to the
guest house during the morning to copy out the contract, these gentlemen are always still
sitting there eating their breakfasts. I ought to just try that with my boss; I'd get kicked
out on the spot. But who knows, maybe that would be the best thing for me. If I didn't have
my parents to think about I'd have given in my notice a long time ago, I'd have gone up to
the boss and told him just what I think, tell him everything I would, let him know just what
I feel. He'd fall right off his desk! And it's a funny sort of business to be sitting up there
at your desk, talking down at your subordinates from up there, especially when you have to go
right up close because the boss is hard of hearing.

Well, there's still some hope; once I've got the money together to pay off my parents' debt to
him - another five or six years I suppose - that's definitely what I'll do. That's when I'll
make the big change. First of all though, I've got to get up, my train leaves at five. " And
he looked over at the alarm clock, ticking on the chest of drawers. "God in Heaven! " he
thought. It was half past six and the hands were quietly moving forwards, it was even later
than half past, more like quarter to seven. Had the alarm clock not rung? He could see from
the bed that it had been set for four o'clock as it should have been; it certainly must have
rung. Yes, but was it possible to quietly sleep through that furniture-rattling noise? True,
he had not slept peacefully, but probably all the more deeply because of that. What should he
do now? The next train went at seven; if he were to catch that he would have to rush like mad
and the collection of samples was still not packed, and he did not at all feel particularly
fresh and lively. And even if he did catch the train he would not avoid his boss's anger as
the office assistant would have been there to see the five o'clock train go, he would have put
in his report about Gregor's not being there a long time ago. The office assistant was the
boss's man, spineless, and with no understanding.

What about if he reported sick? But that would be extremely strained and suspicious as in
fifteen years of service Gregor had never once yet been ill. His boss would certainly come
round with the doctor from the medical insurance company, accuse his parents of having a lazy
son, and accept the doctor's recommendation not to make any claim as the doctor believed that
no-one was ever ill but that many were workshy. And what's more, would he have been entirely
wrong in this case? Gregor did in fact, apart from excessive sleepiness after sleeping for so
long, feel completely well and even felt much hungrier than usual. One morning, when Gregor
Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible
vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his
brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly
able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His many legs, pitifully thin
compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked. "What's
happened to me? " he thought. It wasn't a dream. His room, a proper human room although a
little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. A collection of textile
samples lay spread out on the table - Samsa was a travelling salesman - and above it there
hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice,
gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising
a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer. Gregor then
turned to look out the window at the dull weather. Drops of rain could be heard hitting the
pane, which made him feel quite sad. "How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all
this nonsense", he thought, but that was something he was unable to do because he was used to
sleeping on his right, and in his present state couldn't get into that position. However hard
he threw himself onto his right, he always rolled back to where he was. He must have tried it
a hundred times, shut his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at the floundering legs, and
only stopped when he began to feel a mild, dull pain there that he had never felt before.
"Oh, God", he thought, "what a strenuous career it is that I've chosen! Travelling day in and
day out.