He had an unusally long scar down his forearm.
He was wearing dark coloured clothes I reckoned, though from my position and the way the sun glared that day, I'd still imagine he looked dark even if he were wearing Hot-Pink clothes.
After a while, the blow and slashes he landed on me no longer had any effect- I couldn't even try to remember how painful it was.
I didn't try to crawl away or retaliate either as it dawned on me that I was finally at his doorstep, Death's very own. Though, I regretfully remember how all this pain didn't even overwhelm the memory of her banishing me from my own realm.
I welcomed death, embraced it even. Yet how it all ended, I remember, wasn't as honourably as I had imagined in my dreams. It was the boot to the face- the assailants' soles were worn out (thin) as though he had walked thousands of miles just to attack me.
Then I remembered who I was. An exile, forbidden from my own home
and Boot!
Its only a few more days to the start of the school term and I cannot begin lamenting how bored I am- both of the holidays and of the new school term.
Ambivalence should come in rather aptly, I would say.