Within a Sky Full of Earth

Gregor Samsa woke up once in his room and everything was changed. His legs were thinner-longer-black. "Strange", he thought at first, denying what was turning up to become an evidence. "Started dreaming", he thought again. His hands were gone. Vanished and slurped back in fur. A stick chopped, or the fork of a knife, grew back in their places, suddenly rushing, without knocking. "It's not me, I'm seeing", and that was already the cold sweat of panic coming ahead on his mind. Hands gone, feet gone, legs too many. Closed his eyes and the dark collapsed through all his short sighted vision. Couldn't move. Couldn't speak a language. Melting spots were coming from his jaws trying to mix with the lost taste of saliva. "And now what?", a clinched hunchback was making his hardest fears. Rounded corners like toy wings. Like plastic. Like thousand years frozen lava. Like anything. Suddenly he would like to die. Worth dying just like that, just as in a lightning, bursting on the whirl winds of a tornado. Flash and bang. Light and sound. "Kill me now", he thought, "kill me rapidly", and with his mouth shut, his eyes blocked, he started thinking of a river. And then a tree, and the memory of a girl. The sun. Something else, in motion, all landscaped...
And then he died, happily, breathing a short sigh.