Splintered walls of cement °[monoshin/shinoma]°

Chapter 1. Monoma loves to drama.

             /third person of monoma bitches/
   

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

   Monoma grumbled to himself as he slammed his hand down on his digital alarm clock, groaning as he sat up and stretched, side eyeing the window as warm light poured through it.

   He stood from his bed, not like he was supposed to be in any hurry. He always woke up about three hours from when he was supposed to arrive in class, so as to be the first one there, wanting nothing more than to be able to read his shakespear out loud in the auditorium before class, inacting the scenes as if he were infront of an actual audience, and he was the main role.

Everyone has their form of relaxing.

   He slipped out of his large grey pajama shirt, and into his uniform, adjusting his tie accordingly on his neck before going into the bathroom and combing his messy bed-head hair.

   He brushed his teeth and took one last look in the mirror, fixing his hair alittle before going back into his room and shoveling his books into his bag.

   He gently stepped down the stairs as to not wake any of the knuckle-heads he had to indure for the rest of the day. Mere inconveniences. He reached the kitchen and grabbed a bagel, stuffing it into his mouth before walking out of the dorms, trekking to the school not too far away.

   As soon as he made it to the school he made a beeline for the auditorium, not suprised to see no one there. He grazed his hands over the tops of the dusty, black plastic seats as he gradually made his way to the light brown, shining wood stage.

   He climbed the three steps before making his way to the center of the stage, his face almost relieved as he did so. He quickly sat his bag down and started rummaging through it only to find the thing he was looking for and pulling it out swiftly, brushing off the cover of the thick pamflet type book, and on the title, it read,

Hamlet.
(The playwright)

   He sstared at the cover of the book before flipping the pages, reading a few, and getting into character, reading the lines out loud to the audience of dusty empty chairs, and following the directions of the playwright.

Little did he know,

  Someone was listening to him act from behind the thick, dark wood doors of the auditorium.

//Y'ALL DID I DO GOOD OR NAH?! IF I DID GOOD I'LL PUSH OUT ANOTHER CHAPTER AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, HOWEVER, IF THERE IS ANY CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM TO GIVE GIMME DAT! LOVE YALL BYEEEE//