According to his grandfather, Mortaumal was a smart kid. According to Mortaumal, Simon was a brainless bully. So why wasn’t it Simon with his face in the dust? Surely twice as clever should outsmart twice as big? But sadly, the world isn't affected by our wishes. He'd hoped that yesterday’s flushing of his head in a toilet would satisfy his tormenter for a while, but on the way home Simon had sprung from behind a billboard advertising Jezebel’s Gymnasium, dragged the unwilling object of his attention behind it, tossed him on his face in the dust and sat on his legs. Mortaumal was debating whether to humiliate himself by screaming for help when Simon dragged his shorts down. Shocked, or perhaps excited at his daring, the bully allowed his grip to slacken sufficiently for his victim to slither away and tear off down the footpath, school bag flying, shorts barely back in place until… a busy road. A glance behind made him reckless. With a one-fingered salute to his persecutor he shot across in front of a large truck. Outraged by the insult, blind to everything except the necessity for revenge, Simon put on a spurt and was on the point of grasping his prey when… Screeching brakes, a squishy pop and screams of horror from pedestrians made Mortaumal stop and look back. A smile split his face and for the first time in what seemed a very, very long time, he relaxed. The front wheel of the truck had rolled over Simon, spraying blood and undigested bits of Mort’s lunch onto the footpath. The driver got out, looked under his vehicle and added to the muck.