The hour had gone relatively well. No one was killed, and there was no bloodshed. So yes, it was a relatively good hour. But boring as hell, and just as useless.
   Turning once more on his side, he stared out the window again. Training his eyes to focus and move with the constant driving automobiles. He timed it out. Each car represented a second in his life, sometimes several depending on if it stopped or not.
   Each one represented a moment of his life though, being there one moment, gone the next. Not leaving any trace or memory unless the tire spun and rubber tracks were laid, or a piece of litter was dropped, or one broke down then was towed away later.
   His fingers splayed over his jugular, feeling the blood pulsing and flowing under his touch. The image of bright red splashing and flowing out onto the sickly white and clean sink of the bathroom appealed alarming so to him.
   If someone were to find him in time, the wash towel on the rack would be stained with the color of him. His twisted lips twitched with the makings of a smile once more. Yes, the thought was very appealing indeed.
   No longer would people look at him for his beauty, but stare in horror at his disfigurement. The passion for that transformation was petrifying to those who never knew the feeling of just being some pretty toy. A beautiful doll that was to be stared at and praised, yet whose talents were always overlooked and overshadowed by their appearance.
   Anger again started building up dangerously inside. Hatred and fury blending in and mixing with the inner torment.
   Tears collected and gathered, but were never shed. Tears of that kind were given in way too much. His soul and heart had hardened against them, and refused to allow them the freedom to course down his cheeks.
   He waited for the hourly check nurse, and smiled pleasantly at her when she stuck her head in his room for a quick look around. She returned his smile; it wasn't unusual. They were used to giving the polite smiles to each other.
   It heightened the natural high he received when people were still capable of smiling at him, in spite of his condition. It proved that looks did not matter to them. That even his disfigurements did not completely hide his true personality. His character was still intact.
   That thought calmed his anger slightly and he was able to relax to a small degree.
   Straining to listen to the retreating footsteps of the nurse, he timed it until he was sure she was in the next hall.
   Sitting up slowly, he rushed to the bathroom. Digging out the razorblade he had managed to swipe from the elderly man who had occupied a room down the hall. He had visited the burned victim long enough for a chess game and bathroom break before the man had passed on from the infections and pain.
   He tried to whistle a low tune, as he raised the silver metal to eye level in the mirror, then to the side of his throat. The promise it held this time was far too great to let go. He noticed though that a weird noise had escaped his lips instead of the song he had intended.
   It had stunned him for a moment. Causing confusion to cloud his already stormy steel blue eyes.
   Quickly he forced and focused his gaze on his own distortion. He pursed his lips, mutilated flesh twisted awkwardly. He tried whistling again. The same weak and weird sound emanated from his mouth.
   Revelation exploded in his mind, as he finally stared in horror at his reflection.