Kafka, no? Yes? NoYes?

One morning, after waking up from another dreamless sleep, Brennan Jackson found himself transformed into a hammer. He was on his side, a sleek metal head with a wooden handle and a split wedge. Strangely, the hammer still possessed Brennan’s psyche, but no other sensations than thought and touch. “How curious,” Brennan mused, unable to adequately explain his transformation. He tried to move, but found that he could not. Resigned, he decided to attempt to sleep further, a rare commodity that he would be denied. He soon found, through his few senses that he was a hammer, leading him to incredulously consider that he may now be among the inanimate.
Having cats of a vengeful nature, Brennan did not lock his door, and so when his father came to see why he had not seen Brennan that morning, he was shocked to find upon his entrance that Brennan was not in bed, and in his place was a hammer. The alarm was blaring, not having been turned off by the incapacitated Brennan, and the hammer was tucked under the sheets, a rare occurrence for an object residing in his bed. Still, the father, knowing his son to be somewhat inconsistent with actions from time to time, took no notice, and so, upon discovering the hammer, took it from the bed and left to make his way towards the side patio, where there was work to be done.
“Honey!” he said to his wife, still groggy as she prepared herself for a day of work in the bathroom, “I found that hammer I was looking for yesterday!” After rinsing out her mouth from the mixture of saliva and toothpaste that was recently inside it, she inquired “Where was it?” His brief reply was, “Brennan’s bed.” Brennan’s mother, still in the bathroom but now attending to her face and hair, made no inquiry as to why a hammer would have been in Brennan’s bed, and simply finished her hairstyling in silence. As she left, she wondered whether this class would be a veritable menagerie of horrors, hoped that the school district would assign her something a little more manageable next time if they were, and continued to leave the house for the car, which would take her to work.
Brennan found this whole situation to be baffling. He learned that, though his remaining sense of touch, he could make use of a sense of hearing, making sense of the vibrations in his metal head. He could not, of course, communicate, for he was simply a tool to be used by those nearby. As his father walked to the house’s side, swinging the hammer back and forth, creating a whooshing breeze against the hammer, Brennan wondered what could have caused his transformation, and how he could return to his normal form.

Any attempt to think for himself, however, was immediately stifled upon his use. As his father began to hammer away at a nail in his attempt to build a frame for a room that could now not ever see its intended use, Brennan lost all possible ability to think, as a great pounding, clanging, ringing din filled even the absolute tiniest crevices of his mind. He could not comprehend what the noise was, or what was happening to him, or indeed much of anything; from his point of view, there never had been, and never would be, anything but this cacophony of discord, that it was all, and anything else was nothing. He felt nothing, he heard nothing, he thought nothing— pain, even, could not compete with the noise.
After what could have been milliseconds or millennia, Brennan began to feel a ringing, and a grip around his lower body. He soon came to realize that something had happened to him, for he was unable to determine, due to his limited sensory capacities, exactly what he had become. As the ringing changed to a squirming vibration, Brennan had a strange feeling of déjà vu concerning the whole situation, recalling the term Samson. As he noticed the release from his lower body of the grip, and the faintest of breezes against him, he braced himself for a ringing noise, and thought of the Bible, and by extension, God. He wondered why he was what he was, and if maybe God was the explanation to it, for he could think of no other reason why an organic life-form would become an inorganic, inanimate object overnight. He wondered if some unknown dream, so deep and buried that he had forgotten he’d forgotten what he forgot, held an answer that he knew he would never learn or find.

After a scant hour of contemplation, for Brennan’s father had better tasks in front of him now than those requiring a hammer, Brennan came to the conclusion that his fate was more than not, likely irreversible. He wondered what the upshot of his situation was, and if he could find any. His only possible conclusion was that, at the very least, he would not have to worry about any sort of schooling, high school or college, and that he would not have to worry about the oncoming economic downturn. He immediately became utterly miserable.
Almost as if in response to his misery, he was soon retrieved from the tool bin, and put back to work. Brennan’s father could have sworn that the hammer became heavier, almost as in protest to his attempts to use it, but Brennan’s father was a practical man, born of a life of hard work with his father and then to enter business, took things simply. Brennan, admiring his efficiency, tended to ask much as his father for a simple “yes or no answer”. Although he rarely received one, usually instead receiving a complex explanation of why it is not no, but rather yes, he still enjoyed the idea of things being answered quickly, efficiently, and correctly. “Perhaps,” he concluded, “that is why I am now a hammer, and not a poor wrench.”

His sister soon woke up. While languishing in her brother’s shadow throughout her school career, she still held a respect of her own among her immediate peers, and a grudging love for Brennan that only a sibling could have. She noticed that he was nowhere to be seen, and inquired out of concern as to whether or not Brennan had left already, despite it only being a scant few minutes past seven, a rare if not altogether unseen event. Her father continued to work, the ringing and throbbing and whirling in Brennan’s head once more, completely confuting cognizance completely, drowning out any sound of his sister.
As the world stretched toward infinity, Mr. Jackson’s mind absently followed it, finding his task monotonous and his conversational break far too short. He wondered what school budget he would next be assigned to oversee and sign, not noticing the angle that he was hammering at. Infinity soon seemed to close itself into a sphere around Brennan, a new, sharp feeling piercing the sphere’s skin as he felt something change, slowly, bit by bit. He felt strangely warm.
Brennan’s father hit the nail with the stick of wood in his hands, bending the nail. He realized that the hammer’s head had broken, fallen clean off. He would have to get another one.