GPT-3s Vervollständigung von "Die Verwandlung"

One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that in bed he had been changed into a monstrous verminous bug. He lay on his armour-hard back and saw, as he lifted his head up a little, his brown, arched abdomen divided up into rigid bow-like sections. From this height the blanket, just about ready to slide off completely, could hardly stay in place. His numerous legs, pitifully thin in comparison to the rest of his circumference, flickered helplessly before his eyes.

"What is it?" he asked. "I don't feel well."

He sat down and tried to get himself together, but the pain was too great for him. It seemed to be coming from all over his body. He could not even move his mouth. The only thing he could do was groan and cry out: "Help me! Help!"

Suddenly he felt something like a sharp blow against his face. Then another blow, then still another. At last he fell forward with an exclamation of pain and went unconscious.

He came to an unknown time later. He found himself seated in a strange position, leaning forward with his head between his legs and his arms around his legs. He could make out a few snatches of thought going through his head, but they made no sense to him. He wanted to cry out, but he could not make a sound. He tried to get up, but something held him in place. He gave a greater struggle, and suddenly he felt himself fall forward onto the floor. His cry of pain echoed throughout the room.

"Gregor!" his mother screamed. "What happened? Gregor, what's wrong?"

He turned his head to find her standing in the doorway. She ran to his side and tried to help him up, but she could not do it.

"Oh Gregor! How did this happen?" she cried.

Gregor tried to answer, but all he could do was make a vague buzzing noise. He could see his mother's face in detail now. Her eyes were wet with tears, her brow furrowed in an expression of fear and confusion.

His sister Grete rushed into the room. "What happened?" she cried. "What is it?"

His mother answered her with a look; then, as if constrained by an invisible hand, she rose to her feet and walked away in silence. Grete ran to Gregor's side. She took his head in her hands and turned it from one side to the other, horrified at what she saw. Gregor could hear her breath catch in her throat. She then left him, walking backwards, never taking her eyes off him until she reached the door. There she turned around abruptly and ran from the room.

Gregor's father came in, and after one look at Gregor, he pulled his wife into the hallway and shut the door. Gregor could hear them arguing, but he could not make out the words. He sensed that they were arguing about whether or not to kill him. His mother seemed to be on his side, but his father was insisting that he should be killed. The argument lasted for sometime, but Gregor was too weak to do anything. He could not even turn his head.

Finally, Gregor heard the door open. His mother entered the room again, this time carrying a large butcher knife. Gregor tried to get up, but he found that he was still too weak. All he could do was lift his head an inch off the ground.

His mother approached him, and knelt beside him. "The doctor's away, Gregor," she said in a soothing tone. "He won't be back until tomorrow. This is the only way." She ran her fingers gently through his hair, and then lifted the knife above her head.

At that moment there was a shrill scream. Grete stood in the doorway, watching.

"Mutti!" she cried. "What are you doing?"

"Get out of here, Grete!" said his father.

"Mutti, you promised you'd never hurt Gregor!"

"Grete, get out of here!" shouted his father.

Grete stood still for a moment, as if trying to decide what to do. Then she ran forward and pushed her mother to the side. She grabbed her by the hands and tried to pull her away from him. Gregor's mother held on to the knife, pulling back with all her strength.

Gregor had enough energy to lift himself up a little. It was all he needed. With one great effort he lunged toward his mother and pushed her against the wall. The knife flew from her hand and landed in the far corner of the room. His mother slumped to the floor, sobbing. Grete ran to the knife and picked it up.

"Go," hissed Gregor to Grete, "leave this house!"

Grete looked at him, her face white with terror. She backed slowly toward the door, still holding the knife, and left the room. He heard her sob once, and then leave the house.

He looked at his mother, still slumped against the wall, crying softly. His father stood in the corner, leaning against the wall. Gregor tried to turn himself over, but found that he was too weak. He reached out toward the knife, and his father slowly picked it up and handed it to him. As soon as he had it he rolled over onto his stomach. His back felt raw and bloody from where the skin had been stripped off, but he didn't care. He would be able to kill himself now. He lifted the knife up and pressed it to his chest.


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