Candy Sanders awoke one morning to discover she had been transformed into a mini-marshmallow. “What the hell?” it thought. “How did I wind up inside a Kafka novel?” Little did it know that it was in fact not inside a Kafka novel, but inside a microfiction by a different author. “Samsa had it easy,” the marshmallow thought. “As a beetle, he at least had legs and could move.” The marshmallow continued to lie in bed. “Well, I suppose this isn’t so bad,” it pondered. “Since I am a marshmallow now, I doubt I will have to eat or drink or do any of those other things necessary for live creatures. I can spend all my time thinking deep thoughts. Perhaps I can even come up with the answers to the mysteries of the universe.” If the marshmallow could smile, it would have. But then another thought came: “Even if I figured out all the mysteries of the universe, I would not be able to tell anyone. How depressing.” Seeing how a thinking marshmallow is quite boring, the author saw fit to have the cat arrive deus ex machina style to eat the marshmallow, putting it out of its misery.