Writing Stuffs

Kobe

He sits on a chair with his elbow resting on his knee and his chin resting on his hand. His pink lips are puckered and his blue eyes are squinted, causing crinkles to appear. He peers through his glasses, scanning my body up and down. He seems to be observing me, taking all of me in as he leans closer. Eventually his face is centimeters-millimeters from mine and I notice the devious glint in his eyes. A smirk forms on his face and suddenly, without warning, he jumps out of the chair. He runs across the room, flailing his arms around as his feet shuffle against the floor and his blue jeans make a swishing sound. His mouth opens and an unknown sound like an animal comes out. He wildly shakes his head, his blonde hair flying all over the place. He picks up a mallet and runs alongside the marimba, letting the ball of string glide along the wooden bars. As he comes to the end of the instrument he drops the stick before quickly picking up and shaking various instruments, like the maracas and the tambourine. He picks up a pair of drumsticks and carefully, but loudly, hits every drum on the tenors and then the snare. He drops the sticks and runs to his bass drum, pounding on it with a stick that resembles a marshmallow. A loud coughing sound is heard and he stops. He looks up to see a man with silver hair and pale blue eyes who has his arms crossed over his chest and is tapping his foot disappointedly. The boy put down the drumstick and stepped away from the drum, refusing to look his teacher in the eye. After he mumbled a "sorry" the teacher left the room. As I began to laugh, the boy looked up at me with, once again, that famous smirk and a devious glint in his eyes.