Black Horse

Apparently, there's some flash fiction contest happening that junta is all enthu about, so I thought I'd attempt it too. The only issue being, you know, I can't really write fiction and so I figured I will rewrite it. Might as well choose a masterpiece then, don't you think?

With apologies to all Kafka fans, here's my Metamorphosis:

One morning, when Gautam Sen woke from troubled dreams, he found himself standing next to his bed, transformed into a black horse. He stood upright, and if he turned his head, he could see a black, bushy tail. He supposed that his bedding had slid off him, as he could see it lying by his right hoof. His long mane, pitifully thin when compared to the rest of his body, waved about helplessly as he turned his head.

“What’s happened to me?” he thought. “How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense?” But that was something he was unable to do as he was used to sleeping on his bed, and in his present state, he couldn’t do that. However hard he tried, he could not fit into his bed at all. He must have tried it a hundred times.

“Oh God”, he thought, “what a strenuous career it is that I have chosen? Meetings day in and day out, monotonous hotel rooms Monday to Thursday, bad and irregular food, missed flight connections, contact with different people all the time so that you can never get to know them or become friendly with them. It can all go to hell!” He trotted to the far end of the room so that he could look at himself in the mirror. He saw his reflection and thought, “Oh God! How am I going to drive that SUV to the airport now? Maybe I should call a cab, I mean, a horse van. But wait a minute, no, I don’t need to anymore. It can all really go to hell.” So he trotted towards the door and knocked his head against it; the door slid open soundlessly and he galloped out into the sunlight.

PS: Falstaff, MR, will you ever forgive me now?