How nice of Grete
to leave me this milk and bread,
but i prefer dung.
I like to crawl, slow
across the cieling and walls.
What's this sticky stuff?
From Gregor's Mother's POV
Where has my son gone?
I should tend to my sewing
Did that bug eat him?I feel faint, Grete.
I can not love this beetle;
He is not my son.
From Gregor's Father's POV
Grab the newspaper,
or a cane, or the fruit bowl.
I must beat him down.
He can not escape.
Gregor is now a danger
To our family.
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