🪲 Transformation

One morning, George Sampson woke up in his bed, only to discover that—to his great horror—he had turned into a human overnight. He gazed at his flabby, pink hands with their rubbery skin and gingerly touched his forearm with a fingertip, before cringing back in disgust. After a moment that appeared as an eternity to his overloaded synapses, he let out a blood-curdling scream that shook the walls and only gave out when he finally ran out of breath. As he lay back, gasping in crazed disbelief, his parents and sister, who had been awakened from their own slumbers, threw open the door.

“What is going on in here, George?”

“What’s with the noise, son?”

“Oh my god! There is a human in George’s bed!” his sister screeched, as she entered his room.

“A human?”

“That’s revolting,” his father said, approaching the bed and leaning over the supine George. He saw himself reflected in his father’s shiny, faceted bug-eyes and the glossy chitinous chest plate of his sire’s carapace. Pale, spongy skin, a mop of brown hair, and watery blue eyes stared back at him through the reflections.

His sister poked one foreleg at his chest experimentally, and he felt the smooth hardness of her limb against his body. It felt like a welcome and familiar caress on his tortured nerves. Oh, what he would give to be a bug again!

“It’s an icky, yucky human! We should kill it!” his mother suggested from the safety of the door. “Just squash it and suck up the juices!”

“But mum! What if he is still in there?” his sister objected. “We can’t just kill sweet George!”

“She does have a point, dear,” his father mused. “Perhaps we should just maim it a bit? Or find out whether George is really in there?”

George nodded frantically.

“Are you in there, son?”

“Yes, I am! I’m still George!” he cried frantically. For all his horror of being human, the thought of being killed by bugs—even if they were his own family—left him nauseous.

“What did it say?” his mother asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t speak human. But I think it was answering my question.”

“You know what,” his mother said in a disgusted tone while finally approaching the bed. “We should kill it anyway! I won’t have a loathsome human under my roof!”

“Yes, you are right, dear,” his father concurred.

“Can I go first?” his sister exclaimed. “I want to rip its head off!”

“Of course, dear, go right ahead,” his mother encouraged.

George saw her forelegs pressing into his chest with the sharp, spiky hardness of her exoskeleton, while her mandibles clicked menacingly, getting ever closer to his face, promising oblivion…

George Sampson woke up in his bed, only to discover it had all been a bad dream. He touched his arms and discovered the familiar hardness of his exoskeleton. He was himself again! Shiny carapace, sleek and elegant feelers, all six limbs in working order. No sign of squishy skin and flesh covering frail, incomprehensible bones. He lay back in bed and luxuriated in the sense of wholeness and the contentment of self.

Finally, he left the bed to get ready for work. It would be a hard, gruelling day, he mused. Working in a cubicle farm, selling extended warranties to unsuspecting consumers over the phone all day was not his idea of a good time, but what was he to do? Somebody had to scam them. After all, he had a mortgage to pay, kids to put through school, and extended warranties of his own to pay on his car and appliances. Not to mention all of the social pressures and expectations: being on time, being responsible, being polite. Well, fuck that! He didn’t want to do any of it! He was done with the grind, the endless, pointless activities imposed on him by society. Today was the day it had to end!

He went back to bed to dream of being human!

Ah, yes, he thought as he dozed off. I’m not going to work and I’ll not even call in sick. They can just wonder what happened to me and pick up the slack. I want to be as free and unfettered as a human being! I don’t care if I’m repulsive and fleshy. It doesn’t matter that I’m gross. We humans simply have it better! We get to ravage the earth, deplete the planet’s resources, and pollute to our heart’s content! We are the lords, the rulers of the world! Humans are the crowning jewel of creation! I really want to be human! I’ll drive a huge diesel truck, use all the plastic packaging I can pile into a shopping cart, and then flush it all down the toilet so it will end up in the ocean! Out of sight, out of mind! Yes, this is what it’s all about! Let everything else be damned as long as I get my way! The planet doesn’t come with an extended warranty!

And, he thought before falling truly and deeply asleep, perhaps I’ll go stomp on some bugs along the way.

SPONSORED

This week’s ad slot was purchased by friend of Foofaraw, Evan Passero, in support of the Denton Community Food Center—providing emergency food assistance from a central community storehouse to needy families and individuals in the City of Denton and Northern Denton County struggling with hunger insecurity.

Foofaraw will match up to $300 in donations to DIFFA Dallas, Elevated Access, and Denton Community Food Center through the remainder of 2025.

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