Vilify a Violin

Chapter 1

It was a day after Gregor's death, when everyone else said they should take a break from the loss of families. Sunshine poured into the empty room where Gregor used to be and brought it warmth and a special effect like sanitizer. Even the dust glittered as they soaring in the air, idlely. No stinct. No stain. Not a single thread hinting it used to be occupied by a giant bug  covered in tar black shells, and let alone that before the bug's occupance, a man called Gregor Samsa had once lived there. He was the pillar of the whole family and the only son. 

Grete Samsa tried to keep away from her house when planning her route, yet keeping wandering made the planning difficult. She told herself to wander off street, so she should not tell directions and destinations. It had to be the most boring kind of walk: one walked without a purpose. It seemed like one walking in this way got no choice, as the homeless who had no place to 'be back', something commonly refered to shelter. Samsa's house was not far from the block Grete currently in, but she determined on playing homeless. She did not go out with her violin, and in fact, she felt a strong nausea picking it up or even thinking about it. Father swore this was all because of the frigging bug, how it rushed out of its room and scared everyone, and without it, the Samsa didn't have to move and relied on relatives residing on the south part of the country. Without the bug, father would have paid his bill back on time; mother could take a breath from pain caused by her deteriorating condition; Grete might be the freshman in music school; And Gregor would still be Gregor. All of the things above, were, of course, based on the existence of Gregor instead of the bug. According to Grete herself, it was the wrentch of malice replaced her beloved brother with evil means; and it had to be an error of fate sending this wrentch to them for no reason. Fate was the one to be blamed. 

Yet the Samsa would undoubtedly not complain this to others, for on the day they buried the bug they had all vowed in silence and reached an agreement to not speaking of Gregor in the future. Gregor was not dead, so did the bug. They had never been to this world. 

Grete could still recalled her parents' contenance as father dug a pit  reluctantly with a rusted sholve. He used all his strength to let the blunt edge eat into the field and then dug it up by exerting force on the leverage formed. It was winter when they buried the bug, so the soil became very rigid and compact, as if they were frozen as well. It took minutes to created a hole as much large as the corpse, and swearing and sighing never stopped. Mother was left inside since harsh winter may lead to inetense pause, and she needed time to put herself together after the incident happened. Grete followed though father told her to stay with her mother as she had a sense of duty to witness the burial of the monster while making sure it was dead a total monster. She couldn't bear the idea that the whole family put Gregor to death. So she entered the backyard before her father and gazed at the blue twit curtain running down to the ground. The room was primarily kept as dark as possible concerning Gregore's condition: exposing to light for a long time would burn his skin, now in the form of shell; Yet it graduately became a cage that was used to isolate the monster from the outside world. Thus father told the maid to retrieve the bug's body mixing with other landfill, especially considered public's possible reaction if it was found under the sun. It had to be burried secretly. 

Father was coming holding a big paper box, and inside it was the body. The apple embeded into its shell indicated how bad it decayed, after a whole morning blended with waste. White cotton-like fungi squirted out from the shrinked and darkened apple, and insanely reproduce until it almost envoloped the body, casting a task of cacoon after death. The tenacles were spiky as usual, though a few had been broken and some sections were missing. Grete didn't ask whether father broke these tenacles when stuffing it to the box. During the whole progress she did not say a thing. Embarrasingly, she stood. 

Father made his greatest attempt to avoid touching the body as it seemed to be highly contagious. An instinct. Grete watched it being covered by dirt, bit by bit, until it could no longer be seen. Suddenly a shiver went down her spine, and she chilled. She remembered once in a book, it said that some insect would spend its pupal underground for years before it reached adulthood. It will break the cocoon and emerge from the ground when time comes, though most people are not aware. 

She shook her head and took a deep breath, wishing her exhalation might blow the thought back to the blue it belonged. And she succeeded. It didn't go bother her until the moment, under the same sunshine, her eyes as enchanted, landed on the very spot where the body's at. Realizing this, she tried to transfer the focal point to somewhere else, but it helped little. Curtain, frame of the window, fence, a long square representing the backdoor, cedar, low grass, bare soil. Not a single one of them did not hum the corroding melody. None of them was innocent when the imaginary and (from Grete's view, imminent) resurrection dawned. 

She rushed into the living room as soon as the burial finished, and mother who seemed had long been waiting for her, wearily, gestured her to come. The daughter walked close and sit beside her, and without saying a thing held the dry and cool hand the old lady clenching the blanket. Mother's breath was heavier than she thought, while a soft smell belonged to old people exclusively hanged in the air. Mother's contour was very thin and delicate, as if a fair wind could blow her down, yet Grete knew clearly this woman was somehow tough. Gregor had a similar outline. 

Mother's voice almost drowned in the growing darkness, so Grete got closer and lent her ear toward her. During the speech, she made no sound, and only nodded sometimes to show approval. The sun's sinking inch by inch, and quiety but quickly, the pink fades. She observed. Soon we are in the shade.