The stars reflect in the reservoirs(frosty,blitz)

Scutcher's face was slowly peeling away. Or at least the thick gauze spread along his jaw and the underside of his neck was, but the rest of it might as well been slipping off with it. His eyes felt hot and heavy- ready to fall from the sockets, something like sticky, congealed animal fat might have been lodged in his gullet, lubricating his flesh until it would fall off the bone like a cutlet of tenderised pork. Bending down to the small scrap of a mirror, Scutcher lifted the corners of the gauze and winced to see the putrid, angry flesh below. Seemed as likely as anything that he’d have a scar there forever. One more heavy reminder to keep with him.

The public toilet stank of ammonia; the tiles barely even carrying the memory that they had once been white, so smeared now with suspect brown stains from mud and any other number of things lingering in his nostrils. There was no soap in the shattered porcelain disk of a sink, and he hoped that the trickle of hard, orange water between his fingers was enough to stave off an infection getting deep into his facial wound. They’d taken off his dad’s leg because of a stinking, lingering disease, Scutcher didn’t think that much could be done to save him with an infected face.

His hands were still muddy though, layered thick with the filth. Blood dried brown too.