Of course, this takes place at my school- and yes, there are several references to dorms and locations, but who cares!? It’s good fun. I took the Metamorphosis’ first line, and a fusion of Kafka’s writing style and my own, to make this. Enjoy, and I encourage you to write your own!
As Keillor Mose awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic frog. He was lying precariously on his rather green, slimy back, dorsolateral fold digging into the sheets. Leaning up, what he beheld was the fullest image of his room he had ever seen. His vision wrapped nearly completely around its periphery, and it seemed to account for most colors. Three Frisbees hung on the wall to his left, and he could make out all of them while looking to the right.
What am I? he thought. Of what or whom am I a manifestation, and how am I going to make it to Language & Thinking Studies by nine? John, Keillor’s unassuming roommate, was lying in bed facing his wall, and thus, Keillor had a narrow window for an incognito escape. It was clear to Keillor, you see, that no matter what crustacean, amphibian, kitchen appliance, rickety piece of furniture, fruit, person, or household item he had become, a shower topped the morning list.
Maybe if I just…he thought. It wasn’t until his upper body was upright that he noticed how his legs transcended the meaning of lengthy, coming to an odd knee-bend sort of thing well at the foot of the bed, completed eventually with two giant webbed things that looked like rubber stretch bands. It was thus his contention with his own cumbersome length, which Keillor faced first in making for the showers down the hall. Moving them, however, was a bit easier- well, he thought. Swinging both legs at once out towards the open middle of the room, he effortlessly scooted out of bed, leaving a gelatinous residue behind him. He then found himself in a scrunched, not at all fully upright position, from which he could either hop or issue tiny steps with one webbed foot at time, towards the door. Overcompensation on the hop, Keillor feared, would actually land him upstairs, or worse, on the roof. The last thing he wanted was to have jumped clear through someone else, upstairs, an act of little abandon or self-control on his part, which could instead be prevented by scurrying along rather idly. Being Keillor, he elected the former strategy, and with a great huff and an accidental “ribbit,” he exploded into the atmosphere, quite honestly with enough force to go through the ceiling, save that the dorm’s ceiling was a concrete slab. Having hurt his head and causing a bang, Keillor took the necessary measures to ensure the next hop would land down the hall, by leaning sideways and hopping laterally off the wall, to which he found it rather easy to cling.
The shower was a nightmarish experience. Keillor managed, somehow, to reach the bathtub, by which point his long legs had been thoroughly exposed to the hopping sensation, and were sort of pre-emptively performing little hopping motions; coiling up in a sort of twitch, and releasing the energy in some way, causing Keillor to often bump his head. Managing to turn on the shower via the use of his tongue, Keillor hopped in and allowed the hot water to do its job. Unfortunately, it was not hot water to which Keillor was accustomed; and it was nearly boiling at the time of its dispensation, which, in line with the urban myths, caused Keillor to ribbet with excruciation and get himself gone through the 2nd floor window.
A frog in free fall, Keillor mused sometime in flight, is no frog at all! Nothing lacking wings that finds itself in the air at a given velocity, ought to be, he reasoned. But reason sadly wouldn’t prevent Keillor’s landing on a herd of unsuspecting freshmen, (none of whom, frogs), whose causes of death would detail how a giant amphibious bird had swooped in and turned them accordingly to pancakes, and left without a moment’s hesitation. Kline would be closing within the hour, as Keillor understood, and nothing quite as magnificent of the last (deadly) hop was likely to occur without boiling water. Life was now a giant game of Frogger, after all, and only a master of dexterity could outwit the system. Taking stock of his options, Keillor finally admitted to himself how ridiculous putting readers through a feckless process ending in death anyway, would be. Awash with melancholy and a general distrust of his own thought process, Keillor the frog instead took asylum in the pond behind the Olin Language building, across the parking lot, down a little path, there in the bog. If you should feel the need to visit, his office hours are posted on the school website, and it should be noted that he prefers his work email to his cell phone number.