On a bright heated afternoon in a room drowned in gloom, full of chaos's tranquility, was a man sleeping. As for his physical appearance he was ugly, and was balding too. And he was tired of people calling him ugly. Deep down in his sleep if you can climb down the stairs of his dreams and see the world his mind chose to roam in, you'll see him standing in front of a mirror, his eyes wide, his face uglier with dark flesh which somehow feels dead. He closes up his face nearer the mirror, his eyes out wider, stretching the nerves on them, his eyeballs dancing, scanning his own face. His hands now shake, his face now aches but his eyes still fixated his dark flesh still dark, and ugly which was somehow getting darker and uglier with every passing second. The madman was about to what felt like scream but then the silence was shattered by the alarm clock. The...