After reading Kafka’s “The Metamorphosis” last night I thought of the picture above. How sad, I thought, for a man to just be used up like that.
All but forgotten by the people that knew him, his only legacy his family; who prospered by his life, learned to survive as he declined and were so independent by the time of his death that they barely took notice as his remains were swept out by the charwoman.
These people who he fed and clothed had so easily left him to suffer alone and die unloved, starved only for the simple joy of hearing his sister play the violin. They never once considered what it must have been like for him, even before the metamorphosis, to always be working, never getting to enjoy the family he sustained simply because it was his duty.
Then I realized, this is what happens.