I came to in a hospital bed, nurses scurrying to and fro on missions known only to themselves. How like an ant colony this is, I thought. Then, recovering my senses a little, I was ashamed at such a trite observation.
Somebody had tipped a scattering of sugar on the floor by my bed. A nurse scuttled up, became agitated, scooped up a little of the sugar, moved purposefully away. Soon there was a queue of nurses by my sugar spill, their black abdomens contrasting starkly with the white of their uniforms. After a while they gave up standing on their rear legs and settled on all six. They seemed more comfortable that way. One was called to the maternity ward and I caught sight of her pushing a huge, white egg almost as large as herself.
I’ve had quite enough of this, I thought, and boiled a kettle of water. Striding towards the crack in the wall that was the source of the nurses, my way was suddenly blocked. "Please get back into bed, Mr. Kafka. If you’re bored, why don’t you write a story?"
I tried, but damned if I could think of anything to write about.
