The Many Lives of Mortimer Matthews

by Bobby Charlton

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Human, Comedy, Adventure
Length: 5678

Meet Mortimer. Mortimer is a twenty-one-year-old male. He was born in England blah blah blah. What you need to know is this: The bicycle helmet didn't help much. Oh, and he's just woken up in a strange forest. Life is strange. Lives are stranger.

Meet Mortimer. Mortimer is, understandably, a little confused. Getting figuratively punched to death by a car and then waking up in a forest with a strange outlook on astrophysics (the forest, not Mortimer) will do that to a person.

You may have heard that it's a dangerous world out there. Mortimer's about to find that out for himself.

Rated T for strange things (and maybe some… stuff. You know what kind).

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-03-06 09:42:30 UTC

Never Smile At A Crocodile (Or A Wolf, For That Matter)

So there Mortimer was, stuck in a forest which had just demonstrated a startlingly original take on astrophysics, and it was going dark. How utterly annoying.

Now due to the unorthodox nature of causality when affected by large quantities of Forbodium (an antireality isotope which is present in huge quantities in many universes), there are several phrases which it would be incredibly unwise to utter in Mortimer's place. One of these, for instance, is "this couldn't get any worse." Another is "at least there aren't any wolves around." Being an extramultiversal entity as I am, of course, I can safely say it.

"Well," Mortimer said as he ignored the very wise words uttered a few seconds earlier, "at least there aren't any wolves around."

This release of sonic energy kicked into overdrive the reaction between the fabric of reality and the high concentration of Forbodium in the surrounding area, playing merry hob with the intricate nexus of mystical energy that binds all living things together. Or something like that. I don't have a degree in hypercience, what do I know? What I do know, however, is that it summoned...

Oh, you'll figure it out.

And in the distance, a wolf began to howl.

"O...kay," said Mortimer to himself, as he often did. "I should probably find some shelter. A cave or something. Maybe avoid those wolves, too."

Quickly observing the lack of information in regards to the location of a handy cave (signposts are hard to come by in the forest), he picked a random direction away from the pond and began walking. The lack of sun was really quite noticeable now and several times had the dreaded bramble patch struck, vicious beast that it was. It was almost enough to make a body stop walking and start moving a little faster.

Considerably closer than in the distance, quite a few wolves howled. Now that was most definitely enough to make a body stop walking and start moving a lot faster. Mortimer started running.

He could hear them behind him now, their footsteps (or pawsteps - they're wolves, aren't they?) getting louder. Their panting and snarling grew in volume, and there was a most curious yet strangely terrifying creaking and rustling akin to that of floorboards. Mortimer pulled a few brain cells out of fight-or-flight mode to wonder: how exactly did the wolves manage to go from in the distance to snapping at his heels in such a short time? But there was no time for pondering the mysteries of the harsh and deadly forest, for there were wolves snapping and snarling at his heels! Wolves, I tell you!

Mortimer ran and ran like an English Usain Bolt minus the incredible athletic abilty and plus a load of hungry canines. In a manner most Rincewindian he did his utmost to avoid turning his head to observe his pursuers, and so plunged forth through the trees and the bramble patches (of DEATH). And then he burst through the bush and into...

The clearing with the glade of beautiful flowers and the pond, moonlight streaming down through the gap in the trees. This lent a quite pleasing sparkly quality to the scenery, but he did not have time to register this because WOLVES WERE AFTER HIM! A thought struck him: wolves can't swim! Probably. Onward he plunged, trampling many an azure bloom underfoot in a mad dash to make it to the pond until he tripped and fell! Mortimer knew that this was the end. He closed his eyes and waited for the claws and fangs to tear into his precious skin. But death never came.

Mortimer peeked out from behind his hands and stood up. Turning around, he saw the wolves cowering in fear a short way away from the glade of flowers. But why? Maybe they were scared of the colour blue. No, that couldn't be it; his shirt was blue and they still chased him.

"Aha!" announced Mortimer suddenly. "It's the flowers! You're scared of the flowers, aren't you?" Full to the brim with new-found confidence, he approached the wolves lingering on the outside of the glade. Up close, he noticed that the wolves were chunkier than the photos which, up until now, had been his sole source of knowledge on wolves. Sort of knobbly, with awfully strange glowing yellow eyes. They were a sort of brownish colour, but it was hard to get a good look at them even in the moonlight.

"Aww, is the big scawy wolf afwaid of the pwetty wittle flowers?" said Mortimer, leaning down to sneer at the wolf. "Who's a poor wittle boy thenAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

You see, while he was busy putting his life seriously in danger, Mortimer forgot that wolves can jump. Which this one did, leaping onto him and clawing at his face. A second wolf grabbed his flailing legs in its jaws and dragged him out of the flower patch. In between pained screams, Mortimer was able to get a much clearer look at the wolves. They seemed to be made out of logs and branches and bits of timber. A wolf made out of living timber... now what would that be called? An... Ent-wolf? They looked like the kind of pet an Ent would keep. This revelation did not really mean much to Mortimer, however, as he was far too busy getting ripped to shreds by the Ent-wolf-things' teeth and claws. To make a long and painful story short: Mortimer died.

Elsewhere, Mortimer woke up.

"Whooof!" exclaimed Mortimer, clutching his chest which until a second ago had been hollowed out. "That was far from enjoyable, and hey, am I still alive?" Checking himself quickly, he found that both his body and his clothing was as intact as they had been after those cars had busted his limbs.

"Wow. I... I have absolutely no idea what's going on," he said to no-one in particular. "You know what? I think that I'll just curl up into a little ball and lie here for the night."

And that is precisely what he did.

Subject: Mortimer Matthews

Cause(s) of death:

-Crushed by car

-Bitten by botanical beasts

When A Strange Person Comes Near, Scream (And Then Rip Their Arm Off)

Mortimer opened his eyes, and saw through the tree-tops that the sky had turned from blueish-black to the pleasant orange of dawn. Feeling thirsty again, he decided to walk back to the clearing.

There being no Ent-wolf-things around, he drank his fill before tilting his head back to gaze at the sky. Soon the sun would come up, and then-

"Holy toast!"

Apparently, the sun did exactly the same thing that it did in the evening in the morning. Only in reverse. That is to say, it sprang up from beneath the horizon like a simile standing by an analogy. Look, I'm having an off day, okay? Feeling thoroughly confused by this whole business, Mortimer decided to leave the forest. Maybe there was someone who lived nearby that he could talk to. Plus, of course, leaving the forest would have the added bonus of not getting ripped to shreds at night. Picking another random direction (and this time not one that led to Ent-wolf-things), he set out.

Now as he strolled through the forest, last night's events (and the painful and positively humiliating demise that followed), Mortimer wondered whether he had been dreaming of the Ent-wolf-things. Unlike most of his dreams, which faded all too quickly from memory, it seemed both incredibly realistic and filled with a frightening quantity of hurt. You weren't supposed to feel the ouchies in dreams, were you? Casting canine encounters to the side for the moment, however, Mortimer muttered to himself as he meandered.

"I should probably try to find my way out of this forest. Should be a motorway, or some village in the sticks. Finding out where I am would be nice." Walking and cogitating out loud at the same time, a thought struck him.

"I've got it!" Mortimer eureka'd. "What if I ended up in this forest when the ambulance taking me to the hospital after those cars ran me over went over a bump in the road or something and the back doors flew open and my stretcher slid out and landed in the forest?" Mortimer paused for breath. "Yeah!" Then he frowned. "No, that's not right. I saw a definite lack of stretcher back there. And besides, my limbs should be a lot more painful. No, wait! What if I'm actually in a hospital, and I'm a coma? What if I died and went to heaven?" A thought struck him. "What if I died and went to hell? Or even what if this place is part of a magical land full of talking unicorns and pastel colours which will nevertheless take a somewhat dark tone when they viciously rip my arms off?" Mortimer chuckled to himself softly. What a ridiculous idea.

"What a ridiculous idea."

After a few minutes walking (which Mortimer took to mean that he hadn't ended up very deep into the forest at all), he pushed his way through a shrub to find a nicely trodden dirt path. Looking up and down it, he noticed that while one direction led to a dark and gloomy  and altogether bosky piece of woodland, the other was much lighter and cheery. If such a quality could be said to apply to a dirt path. And then he heard a woman's voice.

"Elizabeak? Elizabeak, are you there?"

Well, thought Mortimer, now I can ask where I am. Unfortunately he couldn't see who was coming up the path, as it curved most annoyingly around a bend.

Suddenly the shrub at his feet rustled in a threatening manner. Fearing that the shrub was undergoing the final stages of its life cycle that heralded its metamorphosis into a specimen of the dread bramble patch, Mortimer jumped backwards in fright. And out of the shrub schlepped a chicken

To Mortimer's credit, it was quite a scary chicken. And also to his credit he didn't scream too loud. If anything, it was more of a muted squeak. The chicken looked up as it heard the squeak, staring straight at Mortimer with its beady little chicken eyes as if to say "I SEES YOU!" And then it squawked away down the path in terror. He decided to follow it, not so much for the sake of the chicken as for the sake of finding whoever was seeking out this mysterious 'Elizabeak'.

"Elizabeak! Oh, I was so worried!" The voice got louder as Mortimer rounded the corner. "Now please don't run away again. I get so worried, you kn- "

WUMP.

Much to his astonishment, Mortimer walked straight into a rather small yellow four-legged creature of proportions and hue unlike that found in nature but quite a lot like that found in small childrens' cartoons.

"Um," said Mortimer as he stepped backwards. "I have herded your chicken, madam."

"Aaaaaaah!" The scream startled Mortimer with its speed and human-like tone. So he responded in kind.

"Aaaaaaah!"

"AAAAAAH!"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!"

"AAAAAAAAHWHAT ARE YOU?"

"I DON'T KNOW! I FOUND YOUR CHICKEN!"

"ARE YOU A MONSTER?"

"NO! ARE YOU A CHICKEN-REARING OUT-OF-PROPORTION STRANGELY COLOURED PONY WITH WINGS?"

"WHAT?"

"WHAT?"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" they yelled in unison. Pausing for breath, their screaming ceased as the chicken ran off unnoticed.

"Did... " gasped Mortimer, "did you just talk?"

"Did you just talk?" replied the yellow thing.

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"Are you going to eat me?"

"What? No. Are you going to eat me?"

"What? No!"

"Good. Glad to have sorted that out." Mortimer knelt down and extended a hand. "My name's Mortimer. What's yours?" Seeming a little unnerved by Mortimer's appearance, the winged pony-like thing extended not a hand, but a hoof-esque appendage.

"I'm... I'm Fluttershy. It's... it's a pleasure to meet you." Mortimer gripped the appendage, shaking it as one would another hand. The yellow thing moved to return the gesture.

"Likewise, Fluttershy, it is a pleasure to meet yAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!"

Mortimer screamed again. This time, however, it wasn't because he was startled. It was because the yellow pony-thing had ripped his arm clean out of its socket. As he writhed on the floor, his screams mingling with that of his assailant, a fresh wave of unbearable pain washed over him.

"AAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAH!"

"Merciful Celestia, what have I done?"

"AAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAH!" As the yellow thing backed away with a look of horror on its oddly-proportioned face, Mortimer felt his eyes slide shut.

Elsewhere, Mortimer woke up.

Subject: Mortimer Matthews

Cause(s) of death:

-Crushed by car

-Bitten by botanical beasts

-Participating in pleasantries with a pony

ERMAGERD (I Think I Found My Berries)

Mortimer, though still surprised at surviving a case of terminal getting-your-arm-yanked-out-of-its-socket-itis, blinked and sat up. Again. He distinctly remembered the rather painful pain, and the slipping, falling sensation that followed. Mortimer wondered if he was dead. Also again.

"Am I dead?" he wondered aloud. "But wait a minute! I remember the cars hitting me... " Mortimer stroked his chin thoughtfully (having no beard to call his own), and continued thinking aloud. "And those Ent-wolf-things, and that oddly-hued arm-ripping thing! And besides, I don't feel dead," he said as he felt his pulse. "So if every time I die I wake up here... " And then he gasped.

"That means that I can't die!"

A brilliant thought it was. But Mortimer knew that it would require some further testing. After all, what if he was wrong? He stood tall and straight, proclaiming to the forest at large:

"I will seek out all the berries of the forest! And then, when I come across them, I shall consume them and take their powers for my own! Chiefly the powers of killing myself. Thus shall I truly discover whether Death's cold embrace is more like a clammy hug!"

Yes, Mortimer delivered rousing speeches to nobody/pony (delete whichever is inappropriate as to your species and/or your preferred syntax) in particular from time to time. Look, some people have their quirks, okay? And so, quelling the nagging feeling that he was being subconsciously ignorant in order to advance some kind of plot, Mortimer set off through the forest. Instead of water or shelter, however, this time he traveled in search of poisonous berries to shovel into his gullet.

Having avoided the ensnaring bramble patch and the lurking low-hanging tree branch (not to mention those Ent-wolf-things or the beings he would henceforth refer to as arm-rippers), he soon came across a clump of bright red berries. Mortimer plucked one from its branch, scrutinising it closely to make sure it wouldn't try to eat him or something.

It was amazingly red in its redness, so much so that not even the reddest red thing could even come close to how red it was. It was the essence of red itself. Red meant poison, right? Mortimer popped it into his mouth, and died.

Eventually.

After violently throwing up for a few hours.

Yeah, even if you don't stay dead for very long, popping stuff into your mouth isn't the smartest of ideas.

Elsewhere, Mortimer woke up.

"Twilight, are you sure you want to head in there?"

"I'm absolutely positive."

"Look, Ah was just thinking. What if there's more of those... whatever it was that Fluttershy saw. Ah mean, supposing they found that dead one? They might not be able to tell one pony from another."

"I know, Applejack. I have to go, though! Just think: a hitherto undocumented species living in the Everfree Forest, and it can talk!"

"But- "

"Applejack, please. I don't care how dangerous it is. I have to go." Twilight Sparkle sighed. "Look, I've left plenty of messages saying where I'm going, just in case something happens. And besides, Spike even sent a letter to Princess Celestia! And even she thinks that I should go."

"Sorry, Twilight. Ah just get a little overprotective of mah friends sometimes. Just... uh, do you mind if Ah... sort'a tag along?" Twilight smiled.

"I thought you'd say that, Applejack. That's why I packed two day bags."

Mortimer rolled onto his side, curling up into a ball as he clutched his stomach.

"Damn it!"

It didn't hurt exactly, as (unbeknownst to him) the berries resided in the belly of another body, soon to phase from existence. It was more of a phantom pain, an echo of the horrible sensation he had been experiencing. Taking a deep breath, he unclenched his gut and unlocked his knees.

"Well," he said shakily, "I'm certainly not dead any more." Reassured by this final realisation, he began walking. Then he stopped. "Pain, however, still plagues me. Maybe I should try not to die so much."

He decided to travel in the same direction by which he had stumbled across (or into) the arm-ripper. His reasoning was thus: if he could not truly die, then a repeat of his previous experience would not cause any issues save some annoyance. Besides, accidentally killing someone would probably be a shocking experience. Reassuring the arm-ripper that everything was fine would be a nice thing to do.

He came across the path rather quickly, although some way further up than before. After what seemed like half an hour of walking, Mortimer reflected upon the observation that distances, as well as the celestial bodies, were definitely abnormal here.

"Y'know, maybe we should call it a day. It's sorta getting dark and all, and we haven't seen anypony around."

"Patience, Applejack. Patience."

"You sound like the Princess."

"Which one?"

"You know. The Princess."

"What, Princess Luna?"

"Her? Of course not! No, I mean Princess Celestia."

"Ah."

Judging from the small amount of sun that he could see, Mortimer deduced that it was around something-o'clock. Just in time for whatever meal you had around then. A little something, perhaps. Observing some fruit hanging off a tree branch to the side of the path, Mortimer reached up and grabbed it. It seemed an awful lot like a pear. He bit into it.

"That's a pear," he said between mouthfuls.

He tossed the core into a nearby bramble patch, just to spite it. Alas, his hands were now awash with sticky juice! Luckily, there was a patch of broad, not-at-all-poisonous leaves right by the bramble patch. Mentally chastising the leaves on their choice of company, he wiped his hands and completely failed to die. He straightened up and took a step, but stopped as he heard a rustling behind him. A rather small animal.

Obviously not learning at all from what happened previously in The Many Lives Of Mortimer Matthews, specifically the bit where Mortimer was torn to shreds after bending down to look at the cute animal, Mortimer bent down to look at the cute animal. Suddenly, he froze.

No, literally. As in, he turned to stone.

"...And so when he sat down, the- " Applejack's anecdote was cut short as Twilight rammed a hoof over her mouth.

"Quiet!" Twilight whispered.

"What was that for?"

"Just look." Applejack followed where Twilight was pointing.

"So, somepony put a statue in the middle of the path. Weird, but... oh." Applejack gulped. "Is that a- "

"Yes. Cockatrice," said Twilight for the sake of those in the audience too slow to work it out already.

"What's that statue, then? Some poor pony got turned to stone?" The unicorn nodded.

"That's right."

"Well, can you, y'know, use a spell or something to unfreeze them?"

"I'm afraid not. But I do know how to deal with this problem. I'll levitate it, then while it's distracted you tell it to unfreeze whoever it is there."

"And what exactly do Ah say to make it change its mind? Offer it a box of chocolates?"

"Do try to be serious, Applejack."

"Sorry."

"Come up with something. Okay... now!"

The cockatrice, squinting smugly at its new lawn ornament, barely registered the ponies in the bushes until it found itself being hoisted into the air and a leaf draped over its eyes. And then it was shouted at.

"All right, you freaky chicken! Unfreeze that poor pony over there, or else I'll... uh... what'll I do?"

"Cockatrice, if you don't unfreeze that pony, then we'll have to get Fluttershy out here. Remember The Stare?" At this, the cockatrice made a squeaking noise. There was a bright flash, and colour began to blossom over the statue. Unnoticed, the cockatrice slipped away.

"Uh, Twilight?" said Applejack as the hunched figure unfolded.

"Yeah?"

"Something tells me that that ain't a pony."

Subject: Mortimer Matthews

Cause(s) of death:

-Crushed by car

-Bitten by botanical beasts

-Participating in pleasantries with a pony

-Partaking of poisonous produce

Vaguely Amusing Joke (Punchline In Brackets)

"Well, of course I'm not a pony," said Mortimer to the pair of arm-rippers. He stretched. Whatever it had done, that mutant chicken had really left him with a pair of sore arms.

Mortimer surveyed the two before him. One arm-ripper was orange with no wings and seemed to be very uneasy, and the other was purple with a horn. He decided to break the silence, as the two seemed to be unable to speak.

"My name's Mortimer, but you can call me Mort. How about you?"

"So, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why exactly did nobody notice someone like me walking through their streets?"

"Wait, what?"

"I said, why exactly did nobody no- "

'What did you just say?" Mortimer sighed.

"I said, why exactly d- "

"No, I got what you said. I'm just wondering why you're saying nobody. That's something a foal would say."

"Well, if it's baby talk- "

"There you go again! You're saying baby, like a little foal would say kitty when referring to a cat."

"Okay then, what would you say?"

"I would say nopony."

"You use the name of your own species as a general collective noun? How... intriguing." Mortimer thought for a moment. "Hang on. You said that there were other species who spoke the same language as you. Do they use nopony?"

"I see no reason as to why they would not."

"Maybe because they're a different species? Whereas nobody doesn't just refer to one species in particular."

"True. Anyway, what was your question again?"

Now because Mortimer was not one of those few beings capable of time travel (or breaking the fourth wall), he was not able to skip back to the line break and check what his question was. This whole exchange had the net effect of both sidestepping the question of how nobody/pony had noticed someone like Mortimer walking through the streets, and providing some nice filler.

"I've completely forgotten. But I do have something else I would like to ask."

"Sure, Mort."

"Why is Spike looking at me like that?"

Twilight looked at the little dragon, who was indeed gazing at Mort with a voracious look in his eyes. His mouth was open slightly, and he appeared to be drooling. In other words, perfectly normal behaviour for a young dragon (do not quote me on this).

"Spike!" reprimanded Twilight. "Close your mouth, please. It's not very well-mannered to stare."

"But... he's so... dreamy... " murmered Spike.

"Look, can you get him to stop? Mortimer asked. "It's just that I'm worried he's eyeing me up to eat me, and I've been through that already. Not fun at all."

"I'm not going to eat you... Mort... " the little dragon whispered. "Unless... you want me to... "

"I'm sorry about this, Mort," apologised Twilight hastily. "He's not usually like- Spike! Get Mort's fingers out of your mouth this instant!" Spike withdrew sheepishly. "That behaviour is not appropriate. Go straight to your room!"

As the dragon slunk away, Twilight began frantically apologising once again. Had she hands, she would have wrung them like a bell.

"I am so, so sorry about that, Mort. I've no idea what came over him."

"You may not, but I do.," said Mortimer as he wiped dragon drool onto his shorts.

"What do you mean?" In response to this, Mortimer cleared his throat in an explanatory manner.

"Firstly, did you notice that he was able to suck my hand without crushing it? I certainly did."

"Of course."

"And that makes me think that the whole über-fragility thing only applies to ponies. I mean, otherwise Spike would have taken my hand clean off!"

"Following you so far."

"But if... hang on, is Spike usually attracted to males?"

"Definitely not." Twilight paused. "Mort, did you just say that you were a male?"

"Indirectly, yes."

"Oh. Okay."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"So anyway, I have a suspicion that while ponies kill me messily, I merely am perceived as incredibly attractive when it comes to dragons. The male ones, at least."

The pair mulled this information over for a few seconds, before Mortimer's eyes began to widen. With horror. Just thought that I should make that clear.

"Twilight, by dragons, do you mean cute harmless ones such as Spike, or... " He trailed off.

"No, they're giant fire-breathing flying reptiles."

"Oh, God."

"They aren't very common, though, so you should be safe."

"Yeah. You know what? Don't wanna think about it. Mooooving on, what happens now?"

"Well, I've written a quick letter to Princess Celestia about you, so I should receive a reply any minute now."

Mortimer briefly toyed with the idea of making a comment on the efficiency of the Equestrian postal service, but decided against it.

"Magic?"

"Magic."

It was at this point in time that Mortimer felt that he hated magic, and said so.

"I hate magic."

Twilight's response was rudely interrupted by a shout from Spike's room.

"Soooo... " mused Mortimer thoughtfully. "You're saying that Spike sometimes coughs up letters, and it isn't a serious medical problem?"

"That's right."

"Magic?"

"Magic."

It was at this point in time that Mortimer felt that he hated magic, and said so.

"I hate magic." Twilight suddenly felt as if the code of the Matrix had been altered a sudden sense of déjà vu, and said so.

"Mort, why do you hate magic?"

"Because," said Mortimer by way of explanation, "I am naturally inclined to be immensely distrustful of anything new."

"You seem to be trusting me just fine," pointed out Twilight.

"I am also prone to ignoring my own rules. It's a slight personality flaw on my behalf."

"Now, Mort, I have quite a lot of questions that I want to ask you. First, though, I'm just going to check on Spike. I feel like I was a bit too harsh on him."

"Good idea. Do you mind if I just nip outside for a bit of fresh air?"

"Feel free. I'll be with you in a minute."

She heard the door close as the human (that was what he had called himself, wasn't it?) followed her instruction, and headed towards the stairs. But barely had she reached the foot of the stairs when the door flew open, only to be slammed shut again. She turned around.

Mortimer was leaning heavily against the door, panting slightly. His hair and clothing had become suddenly unkempt, and his shirt was torn.

"What exactly happened to you?"

"Well, Twilight, I have some bad news and some good news. The bad news is that I am never ever going to leave this house again in my lives."

"And the good news?"

"The good news is that I'm never going to be stuck for a- "

This last sentence was cut off, as the door suddenly burst open for the second time, and Mortimer was dragged outside at speed.

Bicycle Helmets Only Work In Certain Circumstances (But You're Better Off Wearing Them)

Meet Mortimer. Mortimer is a twenty-one-year-old male. He was born in England on the fifth of April, 1994, and is one hundred and eighty centimetres tall. He has perfect eyesight, blue eyes, and fair hair.

This is how Mortimer died.

As he was cycling home from the library one day, his chain caught and the bicycle fell over. The first car broke his arm. The second car smashed his legs. The third car spread the contents of his cranium all over the Tarmac. In short, it was all rather sudden and unexpected. Don't feel too sad for Mortimer, though; he only felt the first two impacts.

The oddest thing, the policemen later said, was that they never found the body. They found the mangled bike. They found the smears of blood and assorted brain matter. They found his backpack full of library books. But no body.

Elsewhere, Mortimer woke up.

Given the circumstances, it was understandable that Mortimer was a little confused as to his surroundings. Certainly, the leafy trees and bushy shrubs around him were a stark contrast to the concrete and metal which made up the area he had been travelling through.

Mortimer picked himself off the ground. He was standing in a forest, and although there was plenty of sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead he could sense a definite feeling of unease in the atmosphere. It was almost as if the wooded are possessed a certain eldritch quality. An arcane feel. A point of thaumaturgic saturation.

Look, it was a magical forest, okay? I don't really see how I can get the point across any simpler. Of course, Mortimer simply ignored the mildly annoyed voice echoing through the air because he couldn't hear it. Frankly, there wasn't a single being in that universe who could hear it.

He inspected himself for injuries, and found none. This was surprising, as Mortimer distinctly remembered the feeling of having three limbs broken by a pair of oncoming cars. Of course, the fact that he had stood up without howling in pain should have tipped him off in the first place. He was wearing the same blue and white T-shirt and shorts that he had on before the car(s) got him, though not so much to his surprise as to his interest he was missing his backpack and helmet.

"Where's my helmet?"

That's right, kids. Your helmet should always be your number one concern when you're a cyclist.

Mortimer rapidly came to the realisation that standing around akin to one who has lost their gorm (or a citrus fruit, or whichever simile you care to insert) was not the best course of action if survival was to be his chief goal. Indeed, he knew that dehydration was a major problem for those lost in the woods. He picked a direction and began walking.

The first thing that he came to realise was that there exists in nature a mysterious and deadly life-form known as a bramble patch, the sole purpose of which is to entangle and ensnare and generally annoy any bipedal would-be forest-goers. The second thing that he came to realise was that there similarly lurked a most vile of organisms called the low-hanging tree branch. A little-known fact: the low-hanging tree branch has developed a co-existential relationship with the bramble patch. When a being's lower appendages come into contact with the bramble patch, it learns both not to do so again and that it must in future observe its footsteps closely. And that, my friends, is when the low-hanging tree branch strikes, lurking quite viciously out of the victim's sight before positioning itself such that it causes a painful rap to the noggin.

Clutching his head, and cursing the day that tree branches ever gained the ability to communicate with bramble patches, Mortimer trudged onward.

He soon came across a beautiful glade of azure flowers growing by a clear pond. Mortimer suddenly felt himself gripped by a terrible thirst, and seemed drawn by some invisible and entrancing fishing rod towards the pond. He walked through the flowers, giggling slightly when their petals tickled and tingled upon his skin. He knelt down and drank deeply.

The water held a particular sweetness to its taste, unlike any glass of the stuff he had had before. Flavour aside, Mortimer found that his thirst was quenched as quickly as it had come over him. Looking back at the beautiful flowers, a wonderful feeling grew inside him. An urge to frolic! To play! To sing!

To stomp on the flowers! Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!

Mortimer looked at his feet. Crushed stems and mangled leaves poked out from underneath his trainers, and they appeared to release a visible perfume into the air. The very essence of smell, if you will. Inhaling deeply, Mortimer wondered why he had ever tried to destroy the wonderful flowers. Why, he should be playing in them! He should have freed himself from the shackles of worry and the manacles of clothing itself and rolled around to his heart's content. All right, maybe it wasn't to that extent, but he did feel rather guilty. After all, surely someone else could have enjoyed those marvellous flowers?

A chirping dragged his eyes upwards, towards the circle of sky revealed by the clearing. The sky was tinged with orange and red. That was odd. A few minutes ago the sun had been directly overhead, indicating that it was about noon. But now it seemed like-

"Holy toast!"

Needless to say, Mortimer was surprised.

"What in the name of God almighty just happened to the sun?"

Now, the sun does not appear to move that quickly through the sky. Mortimer was used to seeing it move gradually, starting at one end of the horizon and finishing at the other. The sun was most definitely not meant to get from halfway to three quarters of the way in five minutes and then dive behind cover like an agoraphobic being chased by a golf course. And... was that supposed to be the moon? It was far too large, far too shiny, and (most importantly) not meant to pogo up from beneath the horizon.

This was most definitely no English forest.

Subject: Mortimer Matthews

Cause(s) of death:

-Crushed by car