Click-click, click-click, click-click, click-click.
His shoes echoed as they came in contact with the tile floor, each footstep leaving a temporary mark on the room's atmosphere in the form of soundwaves. His nervousness was not evident; it was hidden so well even he was unsure of its existence. He held his head high for no-one to see, the sound of his controlled breathing graced no-one other than himself. He walked with determined grace down the lone hallway, his left arm clutching his satchel as his right arm cut through the air in an esteemed manner. A passer-by would have almost tipped his hat at him; what with his coiffed hair and authoritative strides; until the passer-by realised that hats were not permitted inside, so his head was void of all covering apart from his well-groomed hair. He would have waved in slight awe at the man who was almost radiating confidence.
His shoes continued to click in perfect timing; any musician would have noted that, if written down, the beats of his shoes would be quavers. His destination only a few metres away, he suddenly became aware of the knots tying themselves repeatedly in his stomach. He inhaled deeply, the crisp air invading his lungs willingly, and rested his hand on the doorknob. He eyes averted from his hand to the plaque above him, golden in colour, carved so precisely he gazed with wonder at it for a time.
Robert Timpleton
Headmaster of Dalton Academy for Boys
Kurt suppressed a snigger at the name, and briefly knocked, his nerves having dissolved in seconds.
I know this is super-short, but yeah. Can you please give me feedback on whether I should continue? I know it's a bit wordy, but that's how I felt like writing it. It might change over time. So yeah. Feedback would be GREATLY appreciated! Thanks :)
Olivia