The doctor and his patient

The doctor pronounced him dead, exactly at 4.15 pm, local time.
It had been a trying week, with many unsuccessful operations. The doctor paused, he wiped his forhead and came off wet with blood. Fresh blood, the freshest available. Straight after he mistook the artery for a vein(in his defence, that was the smallest artery in the human body, hence the resemblence) and he cut it. If it is of any consolation, death came swiftly for the boy. Mangled and battered, bruised and torn. Limp and lame, the boy was brought in for an emergency surgery, whereby instead of the usual 5minutes of preparation and scrubbing, the doctors had to operate immediately. The doctor looked around. there was still a hint of shaving cream on the chin one of his junior surgeons. The doctor watied, and waited. Waited till his nerves have calmed sufficiently enough to break out the news as gently as he could. Silently, he waited, spending time freely waiting whilst, for the smoldering corpse lying on the table, it seemed that time was something it no longer had.

And the doctor continued to wait...