“...And that is why this school isn't like any other in the world—and consists of the ternary faunas—Werewolves, vampires and witches or wizards.”
Professor Travis—a bald lecturer with an austere face and an awfully long black tie that swung left and right with every move he made said into a microphone—which hung out of a lectern and was slanted slightly upwards towards him like a snake staring at a prey up above. The lectern–or pulpit, stood in the middle of the very well established podium which had an aura that made the newly admitted students of Golden Lake University silent.
Other than the atmosphere charged with sobriety due to the systematic arrangement of things, there had been rumours among the ‘Freshers’ that anyone caught making rows and causing rackets—no matter how trivial, will be sent back to his clan, or pack, or coven.
Even if the students had know that the rumour was nothing but a stow of baloney—which they didn't, it wouldn't have made them lousy because they all wanted to look their very best on their first day in school and if it meant listening to the odd-looking professor that stood before them, narrating the history of the school—which was theirs as well irrespective of their species on the long run, too, and nod fake approvals to encourage him to carry on, they were up for it.
“A Peace Pact was subsequently made over some hundreds of years ago—about three hundred—when the war ended. Some documents, and files were signed. Laws were made, too, which are to make sure that there wouldn't be major conflicts ever again–or at least, like the one we had back then that almost exposed us to humans. Deeds and legal agreements, too, which existed before and during the war were refurbished to promote peace. That was when this school was built, as a symbol of Peace; open for all.”
The two hundred and forty nine new students who'd proven themselves worthy of being called students of the prestigious, illustrious, notable and eminent Golden Lake University, and one other student, sat in rows—next to each other, in tidy, trim demeanors—which could scarcely be found among people of the lower class, on each side of the fifteen long, posh dinner tables–not with meals which a lot of them found ridiculous—but watching Professor Travis exit the podium after his lengthy speech.
Loud claps from students that occupied a part of the capacious edifice which had a transparent skyhigh ceiling that exposed them to the beautiful blue clouds that moved—and changed forms; bit by bit, as tiny black birds flew and performed mind-blowing acrobatics to the students delight, erupted and diffused as other students joined, moving their palms left and right and hitting them against the other to cheer their professor offstage.
They continued still, nonstop, till the Vice Chancellor of their school, Dr Peyton Giovanni, one of the few hybrids that existed—a blend of Vampires and Werewolves, got on the elevated platform to give his speech.
A few students glanced at their pamphlets which had the order of service written and not long after words, the undergraduates heaved sighs of relief as words went round—mostly by whispers, that his oration was to be the last before bringing the event to an end.
“There are various orders, and regulations, etiquettes, too, and code of conducts expected of the undergraduates of this university–some which a few of you must have known from the senior students and perhaps, elder siblings that are either present here or once were.”
Dr Peyton Giovanni paused for a few seconds as if listening to an invisible person whisper into his large ears that had quite a rotund base that was woven upwards to a slim and pointy peak–reminding the undergraduates (mostly in their late teenage years and early twenties) of elves and perhaps, gnomes, too.
The silence of the speakers seemed to have amplified the caustic silence and unbroken, solid seriousness with which the atmosphere was charged. Two seconds down the line, students were beginning to shift on their seats in discomfort before their Vice Chancellor proceeded.
“Here are some of the rules–and vital informations, too, which will be needed by you all during your stay in this university. Firstly...”
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There were three buildings for males; elevated, lofty, magnificent—striking beauties, and three others for females—just as comely as the males'—a fusion of the vintage world before and during the war (hundreds of years back), and the new, blended into singular, conjoined entities that metamorphosed into something remarkable and outstanding.
Definitely, all the students of Golden Lake University were fortunate to have made it into the school.
“This is where we call the ‘divider’,” A ‘tour guide’ told the hundreds of students that tailed him.
The tour guide stopped at a snowy fountain where crystal clear water gushed out of in large quantities, reflecting the brilliant sun's rays in hues of scintillating gold, before landing on the fancy ceramic ground that had little holes like the pore on ones skin to soak in the liquid with little noisy slurps.
He stretched out his broad arm to his left—revealing his long, brown arm as the students encircled the fountain like ants gathering to feast on a cube of sugar, and the necks of the inquisitive students swung in that direction as he spoke, “The females' hostels are located quite a distance from here; awfully close to the school's frontiers–for reasons I do not know, and that males' to my right...”
The tour guide explained to the students methods of finding their rooms and went on to buttress a few points which the Vice Chancellor, Dr Peyton Giovanni, had said half an hour ago in the hall when he was addressing them.
“This is the very first assignment allotted to you all. Students of Golden Lake University are known for being quick-witted, and skillful, dexterous–in contrast to an average member of their species, too, and ever ready to take on positions of leadership in the human world. This is why you are expected to find your dorms before the curfew.”
The students began to disperse, forming small groups amongst each other with mild cacophonies and clatters rising from their midsts.
“Let it be known, too, that failure to find your lodge before the curfew, inescapably means incapability to function well as a student of this institution and hence, such student will be sent back home in the morning.”
The tour guide's sharp eyesight landed on a student–not just any student, but the student whom everyone feared wouldn't make it to the next day, the Alpha's pup, an Omega.
The tour guide shook his head left and right sluggishly, ‘tch-ed’ a couple of times and breath in deeply–then out, slowly.
He knew that the new set of intakes would be nothing like the previous sets, and yeah, he was right.
So many things were to happen, and the beginning of it all was just before curfew.
Harold Girard walked hastily over clumps of brown, arid grasses, mumering prayers–that sounded like an anaconda's whispers just before it pounced on a small mouse, through his whithered lips that had a tawny shade, and dehydrated throat.He slouched his black, leather bag that had a long strap meant to go round his body–from his shoulder to his waist, over his head–with a gasp, down on a small tuft of shrunken weeds and in return, couple of tender clicks sourced upwards as the big bag touched the grounds and the weakened stems of plants snapped into (a lot of) pieces.He wiped his sweaty forehead with with the back of his palm. It was mid summer already but still, it seemed like the sun was still enraged that it had disappeared during the winter and yet, people managed to survive without it. So now, it was back to glow, and bloom, and burn them, too.His bro
Golden Lake University whose mere existence arrested the attention of werewolf packs, vampire clans, and witch—and wizard covens, was highly sought after like a kid in a fervent quest for pack of delectable candies or a band of ravenous dogs for a fleshy chunk of meat.After the war ended, werewolves; in their packs, witches; in their covens, and vampires; in their clans, through preconceived thoughts and competitive zeals felt that having the highest number of students that made up Golden Lake University, automatically made them superior to the others—at least, till when the population numeration was overthrown. And although no one said it—like a secret rule which no one spoke about but everyone knew of, there was a feud—that'd brewed over the centuries, which was beginning to unfurl to every part of the school like few drops of a Black Poison dropped into an untarnished, spotless body of water.That was when the idea of the dormitories in the stud
It seemed like all the doors in Golden Lake University—no matter what they kept away or welcomed the students into, were either chestnut-coloured and tawny—a shade affiliated to brown, or had a strikingly and almost indistinguishable hue resembling sallow orange. Harold had noticed that.He stood, facing the lecturer's door which was sealed shut—or appeared so. The reddish-brown door—obviously of excellent quality, was tall, too; lanky and sturdy, like a mammoth preventing Harold from access to the other side.Harold's neck revolved left and right, and his eyeballs shifted in their chambers as he watched the now-familiar hallway for any shadows and whispers; signs of the presence of people—students. There were no reasons in particular but he felt like being imperceptible and out of sight of anyone, like a pilferer.He ousted his hands from the searing heat of his pockets and tapped the stalwart door a few times—in quick
Harold Girard's right foot collided against a large stone in the shadowy blackness of the cavern and he went sprawling on the ground as excruciating agony stung and bit and crunched on his toes intensely like a stray dog was gnawing at them.He sat alone, in the mysteriously dark cave, nursing his toes which he knew must be bleeding hard through his sneakers. His nose twitched uneasily at the unusual whiff of the cave that seemed to have been heightened considerably over the minutes. It was as though the pong was overhanging from the high walls like ghosts floating around.What was the university holding back from the thousands of undergraduates that was so important it had to be stashed far away underground in a cave?Harold Girard couldn't push the hundreds of thoughts that flooded his subconscious per nanosecond out of his head as he sat on the earth, so he stood up to continue his journey.A ne
Harold Girard; through lies, managed to abscond from the queer-looking midget who came into the pedantic office of his lecturer, a minute after he crawled out of the benighted cavern.If he had been as much as three minutes later than he was, he would have been seen at the very moment of his writhing out of the opening like a worm, and even worse, he'd have been expelled-or killed-and his blood fed to the brutes in the cavern, solely because of the information that was now microfilmed in his memory and etched in his heart.On the outside of the mysterious office, Harold saw students going about their businesses-which was making most gaiety of the winsome sundown, in troops and 'gangs' and dressed in fancy garbs and distinct attires, after a long day of erudition.His hazelnut-coloured eyeballs chaperoned a group of four that bantered and quipped as they sauntered down the hallway; not minding the large quota their voices added to the forthcoming ca
Trisha McLeod's stein slipped out of her shaky fingers at the sudden realization that a student's life was coming to an end—in a matter of minutes—or seconds!Driblets of the liquor; that glowed of crimson—due to the sunset's filter—which doused every physical objects within reach, lubricated the limpid surface of the cup and the ‘greased’ beer mug which still had an ample quantity of booze in it, skidded from her grip before ramming into the cold tiles and splitting into hundreds of tiny fragments with a strident noise.Regrettably, the bump of Trisha's wine's glass on the inured ground brought a lot of attention their way; that of their Geography professor included, and that was when another chain of problems began.Harold and Trisha crouched into the indistinct shadows of the deftly pared gorse bush that separated them from the rest of the swimming tract like a fort breaking up a warzone from the territory of impoverished locales. Unf
Hastening away from the uninhabited natatorium and towards a small cabin—built with bricks and sturdy planks of wood; for the pool's paperworks, was a waitress. Her small, well carved palms which were ornamented with silvery beads that simulated the sunset's beauty, held a salver that had a couple of steins in it, and with each step she took, the glass cups clanked into the serene atmosphere like the death bells of undertakers; which was what attracted Harold and Trisha's attentions like bees to honey.Trisha, who was the first to pick up the orderly sedating tolls with her acute sense of hearing, ran in its direction, leaving Harold to the still blue body of water on which the empty bottle water floated and danced with the miniscule waves the howling wind caused.The waitress who was golden-haired looked like she was dressed for a summer vacation. A skimpy crop top hugged the upper part of her well enriched frame and her long, beautiful
*THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO THE NIGERIAN ?? YOUTHS WHO HAVE IN ONE WAY OR THE OTHER, STOOD AGAINST THE GOVERNMENT AND BRAVELY AIRED THEIR VIEWS AND OPINIONS FOR (POSITIVE) CHANGES DESPITE THE MASSACRES AND HOLOCAUST CARRIED OUT ON HUNDREDS OF YOUTHS AT LEKKI TOLL GATE ON THE 20TH OF OCTOBER, 2020.*Trisha McLeon knelt hurriedly and with a thud, her knees touched the coarse ground—over Catherine's motionless body. She looked behind her, hoping to see Harold or anyone that'll be of help but they were both alone. The environ was as deserted; and noiselessless, as an eerie catacomb. She plucked her eyeglasses from her face and placed them on the ground, beside the waitress' numb frame. Her mum although was a witch—like her, had been a top-ranked nurse in the human world. Hence, she was lucky enough to have seen some acts her mother carried out on her patients on countless occasions. Trisha pl