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.