Gregor Samsa woke up one morning, but was it really him? Or was it the thing that had always been there, crawling beneath his skin, waiting? The Body is a betrayal. A man becomes a disgusting being and the world does not end. The Horror is not in the transformation but in the silence that follows: The family had dinner night after night, Great Plays the Violin, the walls close in. He is dreaming awake, the abyss hums. Gregor does not scream, he observes, he accepts it. Yet, he crawls, he dies. And Even Dying he is more alive than the ones still standing. What is a body after all? A prison? A shell? A thing to be discarded when it no longer serves. I think the tragedy is not the fact of Gregor becoming an insect, but that he was already one, but only now they see him, only now he sees himself. A Family that sighs in relief when he’s gone, the room is aired out. Life goes on, and yet, what remains? A Stain? A Memory? A Shudder. The truth is, we are crawling, some of us just hide it better.