The taste of blood filled my mouth as I wallowed in my own self-pity. I never actually expected to be beaten up. I was bullied, sure, but that was only verbal abuse, and was somewhat tolerable.
I'd never been punched before. Lightly, sometimes, they punched to provoke me, but never had I recieved such a brutal beating.
I came to a bench, and sat on it, letting the damp wood soak through to my underwear, providing mild annoyance, but it was the irritation that got the least attention out of all the aches on my body.
Blood ran down my nose and onto my lips, and as I wiped it away, my coat brushed a cut on my upper lip, and a sudden stinging pain, similar to when one applies disinfectant cream, radiated through my mouth.
I looked up into the sky, watching the dismal rainclouds pour down their tears of mercy onto my face, washing away most of the blood, but leaving me incredibly disappointed in myself.
If only, I thought, I hadn't let them get to me. It's just a word, just a word, and yet my reaction to it caused this.
Tears glided gently down my face, mixing with the fresh and clean rainwater, so that any passers by would only be able to tell that I was crying by looking at my red eyes, which were fairly swollen from taking numerous punches.
However, I didn't expect to see anybody out and about in this weather. It was a perfect example of pathetic fallacy - as I'd learnt about in English by reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Even if it hadn't been raining on the outside, it'd still be pouring it down in my head.