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His many legs, unfortunately thin in comparison to the rest of his body, writhed helplessly as he looked on.

"What happened to me?" he thought. It wasn't a dream.

His room, a proper human room, although a bit too small, lay quietly within its four familiar walls.

A collection of fabric samples was spread out on the table — Samsa was a traveling salesman — and above it hung a picture he had recently cut from an illustrated magazine and framed in a beautiful golden frame.

The image showed a lady with a hat and a fur stole, sitting upright, holding out toward the viewer a heavy fur muff that covered her entire forearm.

Gregor then turned to look out the window at the cloudy weather.

The sound of raindrops hitting the windowpane made him quite sad.

"What if I slept a bit longer and forgot all this nonsense?" he thought, but that was something he could not do, as he was used to sleeping on his right side and, in his current state, could not turn over.

No matter how hard he tried to roll to the right, he always rolled back to the starting position.

He must have tried about a hundred times, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at his legs flailing, and only stopped when he began to feel a light and uncomfortable pain there, a pain he had never experienced before.