Gregor woke up from a dream in which his sickly father condemned him to drowning. He didn’t feel fully rested. He yawned, stretched, and started to roll reluctantly out of bed.

But he couldn’t roll. He seemed to have two extra limbs, a hard matte brown body, and a pair of long, whiplike antenna. 

Some days it didn’t pay to wake up.

With a little work, he managed to rock himself to the floor. He went into the bathroom and leaned on the counter to get a better look at himself in the mirror.

He was a cockroach. 

Well, fuck. Blass is gonna kill me if I’m late again. 

There was no way he could drive like that. Not his little Civic, anyway.

He called Richard on speakerphone. After agreeing to buy his coffee for another week, Gregor got Richard to pick him up..

When Richard pulled up in his Audi, Gregor wore  the only suit that would fit his wider, flatter, more insect-like body. He hadn’t worn it in years; it felt like someone else’s.. But what else could he do?

“Laundry day?” Richard said, smirking.

“Yeah,” Gregor muttered. He struggled with the seatbelt without looking up. Richard pulled away quickly.

“Thanks again for the ride,” Gregor said

“Hey, you know me, anything for that sweet cup o’ mornin’ joe. Um, did you - you look different.”

“Hmm? Oh, um, yeah. I did a little spray tan last night.”

Richard raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Spray tan.”

“Yeah. And I started Pilates. Really kicked my ass this weekend with all the, um, exercises.”

“Ah.” Richard nodded. “I dated a girl who did Pilates. It’s no joke. Well, you look … good, man. Keep it up!”

A few hours later, Gregor was seated in Herr Blass’ office. Herr Blass was the acid-tongued sales manager for his office.

Blass looked him over. “So you’re a fucking cockroach for real now. Good. You know what? It looks good on you, Greggie, you worthless shit. I’m glad I did it. And you’re gonna be glad, too, when I tell you why.”

“You did this to me?”

“You did this to yourself, pal. You filled the bottle with piss and spilled it.  I’m just the one who put it over your head. This is on you, you garbage-eater, you crap-sack, you walking stack of shame. Because you couldn’t sell sugar to a goddamn child with a lemonade stand. You know why?”

Gregor just stared in silence. His response seemed unnecessary.

“Because you’re not motivated. But I fixed that. Thanks to a little spell I got from a friend, you’re a goddamn cockroach until you can finally for the love of God sell something. I want everyone to see - your mother, your girlfriend, your sick dad and your little sister - I want everyone to see how worthless and shit-eating you really are. Prove me wrong, Gregor! Get out there and sell some goddamn magnets, or Bauer and Sons Industrial Magnets will kick you to the curb with the other losers.”

A few days later, Gregor felt good about his new sales approach.

“Samsa!” Herr Blass bellowed. “Get in here, now!”

Gregor dragged himself into the manager’s office, shutting the door behind him.

“Yes, Herr Blass?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing out there, you fuck? Do you have any idea the kind of day you’ve handed me? The calls I’ve taken? The clients I’ve talked down from the goddamn ledge? Well?”

“I … I’m just trying to get sales, sir. Just as you instructed.”

Herr Blass leaned back in his chair. 

“Oh, so you want to dump this shitshow on my shiny new shoes, huh? After all I’ve done for you -”

Gregor leaned forward, antennas thrashing.

“You turned me into a cockroach!”

“I tried to motivate you, you sorry maggot. They’re magnets, Samsa, bits of metal that attract other bits of metal. My five-year-old could sell them, and we still have to change his sheets every morning. They sell themselves! They’re money in the bank, they’re a license to steal, and somehow you’ve screwed that up. But you know what, Greg? I’m done. I’m done with you. Get out of my office, you’re fired.”

“Herr Blass, please -”

“Did I stutter? Did I fucking stutter? Clean out your desk, loser, you’re done. Bauer and Sons Industrial Magnets doesn’t need you dragging it down another goddamn day. And I’m sick of the sight of you. Get. OUT.”

Six months later, savings gone and a month behind on rent, Gregor got desperate.

Gregor  knocked softly on the dingy apartment door. 

“I’m Franz,” Gregor said. “Are you Lukas?”

Lukas ushered him in, craning his neck to look down the hall both ways. He introduced his wife, Alina. Lukas handed over a stack of bills in a brown paper bag.

It was a routine scenario: a white knight fantasy, the loathsome villain Gregor threatening the helpless Alina before Lukas, the hero, saved her just in time. But there was a twist.

“Umm, we want to - I mean, she wants me to, like, throw rotten fruit at you.”

Gregor paused. This is my life now. This is how I support my family. This is love.

“You want to throw rotten fruit at me.”

Alina nodded eagerly. 

“Yeah,” Lukas said. “We got some apples from an alley behind the market. I can throw them at you while you’re, you know, wiggling around on top of her. Is that okay?”

This is love.

“You really should have said that up front. It costs extra.”

Lukas handed over a few more bills. “And when I knock you onto the floor, could you kind of flail around on your back, cursing? I’ll help you up when we’re done.”

Later, while Lukas and Alina fucked loudly a few feet away, Gregor came back to himself. Thrashing feebly on his back atop a pile of moldy, wormy apples, Gregor felt an overwhelming urge to scurry into the deep darkness under the cupboard.  

This is love, he thought, and tried not to hear Alina’s screams.