The Boy Out Of The City....Mature

I spent the best part of ten years at Crupney University, and in that time I only encountered President Candlewager a handful of times after the day he first introduced himself.

I began classes immediately. Everyone was more advanced than I was, both on an intellectual scale and, of course, social scale, so naturally I became a black sheep in the university flock. I was given a small but very adequate bedroom to myself, with a private bathroom, where I could fill a large tub with warm water and soap and soak myself in it if I wanted to. I had a soft bed to sleep on every single night, and a place to hang clothes up in. My naive mind opened up to so many things just from simply being at Crupney. As well as that, three meals were prepared specifically for me every day, and after a while my bones sank into my flesh a little more than they used to. My metabolism remained scarily high, and I never truly reached my ideal weight, but I no longer passed for the walking corpse of someone who had died of the Black Plague.

I wrote to my parents three times in my first month there. I never got any replies, so I stopped writing after that.

When I realised that nobody here would give me the time of day until I'd bettered myself, I demanded that I stop feeling sorry for the old little Silus from the slums. So I shut myself away in Crupney's six-storey, Renaissance-style library, and grew pale and unfit, but swollen in knowledge. I knew the shriveled, pathetic boy from the slums was still inside of me, and I wanted to blast him out of me with as much information about the world as I possibly could.

In my third year, I was asked by the university to choose the degree that I wanted to finish my education with. 

My gratitude towards, and my admiration of, President Candlewager continued too imprint upon me over the years, and I decided that I would use my opportunity here to help others. Medicine was suggested, but the sight of blood and corpses reminded me a little too much of Millicent. There was also something called social care, but it involved visiting the houses of London's slums, like the ones I'd grown up around, and that didn't exactly appeal to me either.

What I loved was books, especially history books, and I wondered if there was a way I could help people by reading books. I posed my question to the university counselor, who smiled at me over her half-moon lensed glasses as she suggested;


The End

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