Dear Ben,

Another reason why you British are weird, you call a “-” a parenthesis.  O’er here we call parenthesis these: ) and  (, and “-” a dash.  We call brackets these: ]  [  .  No wonder why it got confusing.

Weird Connection: I'm getting my braces on in June, too.  WE CAN BE BRACES BUDDIES.  WHY ARE WE SO SIMILAR?  We really aren't though.

Oh, yesterday I had my band concert.  Surprisingly, it went well.  It was really sad though, because it will be my last concert of being in the same band with my friend Karen, and we've been in the same band since 5th grade.  :[   Why is it our last together (until junior year, at least)?  Well, auditions for Wind Ensemble, (top band, I'm in the middle band, Symphonic Band) were held a while back, (on my birthday to be exact), and I completely screwed them up so I didn't make it in.  I'm principal (first chair, means you're good) of Symphonic Band, but still.  :/  So it was depressing in that since, because I'm not going to Carnegie Hall with the Wind Ensemble next year then.  Oh well, I s'pose.

Relay for Life is tomorrow, so this letter will be short because I need to go to bed in about an hour, around 5 o'clock.  Why?  Because I'm duper exhausted from this week and Relay for Life is from 6 PM to 6 AM, all night walking the track.  So I need to get a lot of sleep for tomorrow, since my piano contest that I have been preparing for about 5 months is the day after no sleep.  Ahh well.

And Ben,

I live under a rock.

:]

Mmkay well I’m really sleepy.  I’m gonna go.  kthxbye

Much love,
Your friend who is never giong to be able to catch up on her sleep,
Carla

P.S. A kid yesterday said I look like Anne Frank.  Do i?

Dear Carla,

Before I get into my letter, I’d just like to point out that you got the wrong meaning of the word parenthesis. A parenthesis is a “-”, surrounding a clause. I.E. I really like chocolate - obviously, who doesn’t - and eggs. The words in the brackets, as you meant to say, were meant to be thoughts displayed by the character at the time. It’s a commonly used technique, it keeps up pace.

ANYWAYZ.

I had to go on a one and a half hour journey to the middle of London to get my teeth checked up on, for braces, which I am now getting in June. BOO. I missed a frickload of school though, which was greaaaat.

It’s been absolutely freezing cold in recent days. It went form like four hundred degrees to eighteen in the space of two days. I’m shivering here. MY FINGERS HURT FROM COLD.

Apparently when I was at the orthodontist today, some random tramp ran into our school and started chasing some boys up the stairs. He then proceeded to hug one of my friends, give another boy in my year some cigarettes (which he described as, “really cool. What a legend!”) and then walked outside, mooned everyone and did a poo on the pavement.

What baffles me is why no one called the police. I can think of at least three offences there:

• Entering private property without permission
• Indecent exposure
• Indecent behaviour

Sometimes my knowledge of the judicial system is too fantastic.

Responding to something you said about three days ago:

YOUVE NEVER HEARD OF DONNIE DARKO? SERIOUSLY? Sometimes I say stuff to you and you act as if you’ve been living under a rock. DONNIE DARKO? How have you not heard of that film. It’s like the favourite film of anyone who wants to be slightly individualist.

Anyway:

Something else happened at school today. A boy got suspended for leaving a horrible facebook honesty box message to someone else. It went something like this:

you fucking gay jew. why don’t you fuck off and die. no one would care

But it was like an essay, and was really horrible and nasty. The boy’s dad called the police, who told the school etc. It got me scared that the boy I left a kinda nasty, more mocking than actually mean, message to someone - but then I realised, he’s not enough of a wimp to do that - and has a pair of balls (oops! I went there!)

I’m considering starting a new blog, where I post about the random crazy shit that happens on the bus to me, but I’ve decided I’ll make it a segment on this blog. It’s nameless at the moment, so I’m just going to call it

NAMELESS!

Anyway, every time something weird, or someone weird, happens, I’ll list it on the blog - along with a number. I’ll tag the posts with numbers in them - so people can see if they give a crap. Today, I have two numbers to report (my first two)

#1

Random man, standing at the bus stop drinking shots of Chivas Regal. At eleven A.M.

#2

Man sitting at the back of the bus saying the following to his friend (whether he is insane, or was on the phone is beyond me, but it is still slightly odd)

Take off your shirt! You need to work them hips more. I like shavvved pussy!

And then he bought a porn magazine.

So that’s that, fascinating stuff, huh? (When I first wrote, fascinating, I said out loud: “FASKINATING!”)

God, this half of the letter is written TWO HOURS later. I left my computer on and forgot to finish.

Which reminds me - I have no idea what job I want to pursue when I grow up. Like, no idea - whatsoever. I don’t even have an inkling. Well, of course I have my dream job - but it’s never going to happen. I can just see myself ending up making CDs for a living. *cryfaec*

I’ve had a sudden craving for food Carla, and my word count was up to 666 at last checking! How awesome is that? 

I have a memorial for my Grandma tomorrow, it’s going to be a little thing where we make speeches and say how awesome she was. I’m kind of dreading it, but I don’t know why. Maybe it’s a deep rooted need to say goodbye? Who knows?

Lots of love,

Your hungry for CHICKEN friend,

Ben.

P.S BLANK

P.P.S Please kill Adela, I hate her.

P.P.P.S They reached the village in a matter of seconds. The air was thick with smoke, and the whole place reeked of blood. It was a metallic, sickening smell that made Carla retch. The worse had not come though. As they proceeded through the village, bodies lay scattered about. Some had their skin peeled, so only the muscle underneath showed, like the underside of a grape. Others were burnt, and blackened as if they had been torched in some demonic fire.

The basic huts which the villagers must have lived in were destroyed, crumbling to the ground after the rampage. Adela’s eyes widened.

“That’s the storage hut!” she yelled, forgetting the scene they were standing in. 

“And…?” Carla asked, her eyes closed.

“That’s where they keep It’s creator. In there,” she continued, “is who made It!“

Carla could not stand it any longer. She leaned to the left, and vomited on the blackened remains of a woman.

Dear Ben,

This letter is going to be short because I’m very busy and I have a band concert to go prepare for.  And recording the letters?  I think that would be a pretty cool feature.  We could just include a link to hear it or download, etc., and it’s not like we’re forcing it down our listeners throats, because they don’t need to listen to it if they don’t want to.

So yes, do it whenever you feel like.

I’m also going to bring another segment into my letters, called OBSESSION OF THE BRAIN.  And It’s going to be my spotlight.  But it’s going to mainly be new bands or anything else that interests me.  It’s going to be on Thursday, and whenever I feel like it.  Heh.

THIS WEEKS OBSESSION:
category - band,

METRO STATION

I haven’t boughten their CD yet, but I’ve listened to a whole bunch of their songs on youtube and I really like them.  More on the techno-y side, but give ‘em a try and see what you think.  Sort of remind me of Cute Is What We Aim For a little bit.

Since this is my first spotlight, I won’t put a rating, but I normally will.  (Plus, I can’t give them an accurate rating yet)

Time for me to go now.

Much love,
Your friend who goes through iTunes gift cards like crazy,
Carla

P.S. You made an empty P.S.

P.P.S. Enlighten me on what the (words in the parenthesis) are.  I’m stupid and I don’t know.  :]

P.P.P.S. “Oh no,” Adela gasped, staring at the carnage.  “We need to get out of here, and fast.  We must warn the others, It is vengeful.”

Carla nervously glanced at Ben.  “Will it come for us?”

Adela studied the smokes path, twirling through the village before rising to the sky.  “I don’t think so,” she said, still cautiously watching it.  “It got what it wanted, whatever that was.”

Ben, who had been silent until now, muttered, “Then we must go find out what that is.”

Carla swore, forgetting the presence of Adela.  “Are you fucking serious?  Ben, we can’t go there!  We’ll get eaten or killed, and we have families and –”

Adela cut in.  “He’s right,” she said, in an eerie voice.

Carla glanced at both of them, convinced they had lost their minds.  But she realized she had no other choice - it was to go with them and risk death, or not go with them and risk death.  She sighed, defeated.  “Let’s go then,” she muttered, and down the hill they walked.

P.P.P.P.S. FAIL.  It’s 13, 5, or 135.  (and 18 is my soccer number =D )

Dear Carla,

I officially LOVED your part of the story. It’s as if you read my mind as to where I wanted to go with it. I’m going to have to make this letter short, and the story long - because my brain is malfunctioning today Carla. I’m exhausted from rehearsing and feeling inadequate all my life.

I really enjoyed recording the letter yesterday, actually and I was wondering if we should make it a regular feature, like every two weeks or so? Or whenever we get the time?

Trousers falling down is my nightmare, but I have a big bum for my height and size, so they seem to stay on me like water in a camel. (Thought that should be FAT in a camel)

I’m going to aim to write 700 words in the story today, so our total will be up to about 10,000.

Lots of love,

Your friend who is obsessed with writing the story and that is why he is writing a short first half,

Ben.

P.S

P.P.S The others shuffled off to dinner, only Adela paused for a minute to see if Carla was okay.

“What happened?” she whispered, kneeling down to help Ben pick up Carla.

“My guess is shock,” Ben said, sternly. He moved Carla carefully to a wall and asked Adela to bring some food over.

“Is it the right time to be eating?” she asked.

Ben frowned at her, and she scurried off quickly to get food. As soon as she was out of earshot, Ben shook Carla. He understood that she had merely fainted, and could be roused easily. Fortunately for him no one else did.

“Carla,” he said, awkwardly glancing around.

She opened her eyes, groggily and stared at Ben.

“What?” she asked, suddenly alert.

“Get up,” he said, talking at top speed. “We need to get out of here. Everyone is over there eating. We can climb out, up the tunnel and go find those villagers. Find some answers. I have a feeling the people in here are too scared to do any real digging-”

He was cut off by a coughing sound. It was Adela, holding a leaf full of chopped up fruit and raw, cured meat.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, making sure she kept quiet.

Ben shook his head: “No,” he replied. “We’re going to get answers. You can come if you want, but if you don’t you can’t stop us leaving.”

“I don’t know…” Adela said, softly.

“Don’t know what?” Carla asked, now standing.

“If I come… I’ll be at risk,” she began. “But if I leave you alone… then… I’ll have your deaths on my conscience. Forever.”

“It’s a toughie,” Ben said, through gritted teeth.

*

They were now clambering out of the dark hole in the side of the forest. Carla was behind Ben, and Adela was behind Carla - holding a camera in her hand. It was dark now, and swarms of mosquitos (or what would be mosquitos if we were home) began to flood around them. The air was thick, and Ben felt a rush of nostalgia. He was reminded of holidays and millions upon millions of private jokes he’d had back home. He swallowed and turned to Adela, who’s mane of curly black hair she was now untangling.

“Which way to the village?” he asked.

Adela pulled her hand down from her hair and stared at him for a second.

“Follow me,” she replied.

Carla and Ben tagged behind her, as she cut her way through paths and bends. Ben wondered if she had been here as long as Tancred (or is she even from earth? can we trust her? carla?). She knew the paths so well and seemed to know when to duck out of the way of a branch, or when to avoid a thick cluster of brambles.

Carla and Ben walked side by side. Carla had been devouring the food Adela had brought for ten minutes, and Ben had been fumbling with the coins in his pocket. Finally, Adela turned to them as they reached a tall hill. It was pitch black now, and very, very cold all of a sudden.

“Over the hill,” Adela explained. “is the village.”

“What are we waiting for?” Carla asked.

“Let me finish,” Adela continued. “When we get to the village, I need you to promise me not to make any sort of noise of disgust or shock. The villagers aren’t the type you’ll be used to.”

Ben was puzzled by this. (cannibals? aliens? murderers? natives?)

“I promise,” Ben said. “And I’m sure Carla does too.”

Carla nodded, and they began to walk up the crest of the hill. As they walked upwards, Ben could smell smoke. It was a homely smell, and reminded him of the country (why the nostalgia? don’t be fooled, ben!). He could see a trickle of smoke, rising up into the sky - black against the horizon. As it rose higher into the air, it was illuminated by the moon, and Ben could see it was red. It was the red smoke. It was It. Panic filled Ben’s head. (carla! DO YOU SEE THIS! oshitoshit!)

He had no time to run, for as they reached the top of the hill, Ben looked down at the village and saw carnage. (dead! DEAD! EVERYONE DEAD!)

P.P.P.S New style, you like?

P.P.P.P.S Your FAVOURITE NUMERO IS 99 or 11. I feel that.

Dear Ben,

You know in the movies, or plays, whenever someone gets a letter and the other persons voice is reading it? That’s how it was like! Pretty cool. Plus I always think it’s fun to see how people speak what they’re writing, y’know? Because of the way they accent the words and such. So yup.

Today my pants almost fell off. Great conversation starter. Anywho, today was my lazy day for dressing, (I always give myself one a week, just a day where I wear my glasses, sweats, whatever… comfy day. Why? BECAUSE I CAN, FOO) So I was wearing these really baggy pants (like very) with a pirate shirt. Of course, this is also the day we go over the play, or mainly, Act I, which I am a very big part of.

And I get dragged off.

Now if we go into a theory-tical (i couldn’t think of the word), friction between the baggy pants, a human body, and a rough stage floor is very high. The friction between the pants and the floor is so high, in fact, that the pants will not move, while the friction between the human body and the pants are very little, making it very slippery. See the problem?

So while I was being dragged off, my pants were falling off. Humorous, except that two people dragging me had my hands, so I had to do some craaaazy leg maneuvers to stop my pants from falling. Don’t worry, I managed to stop my pants from sliding before anyone could see my underoo’s.

Well since the British are critical, then what are Americans? FAT?
Yeah… I guess…

Hey Ben, how do you tell if someone is an anorexic? There is (or was, since the seasons over) this girl on my soccer team who won’t eat ANYTHING. We’ve had two pasta dinners (well one was pasta, the other was hot dog/hamburgers), and she’s eaten nothing at both… not even desserts! And when we were like, “GO GET FOOD RIGHT NOW,” she came back with water.

Not sprite, not fanta, water.

But the thing is, (this is going to sound incredibly mean), she doesn’t look annorexic. I mean, she’s average sized, lean figure, but she doesn’t look like a twig or model skinny. Hmm, who knows.

I have the same problem as your director. Except I’m not homo. But I think everything is funny when it’s not. LIKE ME. IM HILARIOUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSyeahshutupcarlayournot.

I did have something else on the agenda to discuss… except that I drew the cutest thing in spanish! I obviously don’t listen in that class, so I just doodled the whole time. I would show you the little doodle, but my homework is at school (lol) so I can’t scan it. I will tomorrow though! (hehehee)

YOUR CHALLENGE IS TO… Oh let’s play a guessing game.  Guess what my favorite number is.

Right now, the wonderful world of Target is calling me, so I must be off.

Much love,
Your friend who really, really, REALLY has to pee,
Carla

P.S. Oh, creating your OWN love interest now? YOU CAN’T SETTLE WITH JUST KILLING MINE? Hehehee. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. ;]

P.P.S. Why thank you

P.P.P.S. Carla tried to not let her jaw drop, but it was hard. “Three years?” She gasped. She thought about leaving her family, friends, everything, all at once with no warnings, no goodbyes. The bitterness of her move to London didn’t even creep into her thoughts as it usual did. Instead, sadness tugged at her heart. She hugged Tancred, trying to soothe her.

“Well, come on,” Tancred said, after she had gotten her emotions under control. “Let’s introduce you to everyone.” She hit the side of the hole in a special manner, and after counting to five, the dirt came down. It revealed a door, about three feet tall, causing everyone to crouch down to get through it. Once past, Tancred led them down a long tunnel, through more doors. Along the way, she explained the reason behind all of the doors.

“We figure we can keep out the light this way,” she said, her voice lightening up. “Each door is placed with an electric bolt - which is why I count to five before touching the dirt again - so that if the light came through, we would be perfectly safe in our home. The maze-like setting of the tunnels is to confuse intruders, and well, add to the cool effect.” Tancred winked at them, and they reached a dead end. She bent over and pulled up a worm-like string, creating another hole.
“Alright, jump in!” she said, excited. “The last thing to get into our home!”

Carla knew the routine, and slid down this hole. It curved like a slide, ejecting her into a pile of pillows. She immediately moved over, so she wouldn’t be crushed by Ben or Tancred. Carla sort of wanted to go again, but figured there would be more times to do so. Right now, she was so curious.

“Hey Tancred,” Carla began, “well, uhm, how did you guys build all of that stuff?” Tancred let out a hearty laugh.

“A good portion of it was here before we were, an old mine shaft. Our little genius kid, Matty,” she gestured over to a kid looking about 9 years of age, “helped us set up the electricity and trap doors and what not. It was nothing at first, but once you’re here for three years, you tend to get creative.” Carla still couldn’t get over the fact on how well made everything was. She gazed around the room, almost forgetting Ben standing next to her.

“So… who is everyone?” Ben tried to see where all the kids were, but everyone was scattered about the big room. Even though the floor, walls, and ceiling where made from dirt, it didn’t give off the appearance of being messy. In a corner there were a large heap of blankets, leading him to assume it was the sleeping quarters. Across the room was a long table, crudely made from a tree. Behind the table was shelves upon shelves of different varieties of food. On his second time inspecting the room, Ben couldn’t find where they possibly could have gone to the bathroom. He wasn’t sure if that was good or not. He looked at Tancred again, who was now in the middle of the room, ringing a large bell.

The room grew quiet, and everyone came to the middle, finally noticing their new guests. “Everyone,” Tancred said, a big smile on her face, “we have some new arrivals. This is Ben and Carla.” Names spouted out from different mouths, of various ages.

Carla tried to remember all of their names, but knew she’d remember them soon enough. Tancred continued with her speech, “They have also escaped from It,” Carla noticed she referred to the light as It, “and they’re going to need a place to stay. Now someone come up and explain everything to them while I start dinner.”

A girl of about 8 years of age walked over to them, and shook their hands. “I’m Adela,” she said, introducing herself. Carla felt a pang go through her heart, for Adela reminded her of Genvieve. “I’m going to explain how things work.” She grabbed their hands and pulled them around the room, explaining where they would sleep and what to do in case the light came. “Usually we stay down here, but we make sure we always carry something electronic with us at all times. Moving on,” she led them towards the kitchen, where Tancred had created a fire, heating up a big pot of water while she chopped vegetables, “this is the kitchen. Because we can only bring in so many Kepps from working, we only have two meals, sometimes only one. And when you have to go do your business, you go behind here,” Adela pointed to a curtain, “and take the tunnel straight down - it leads you right out to the deserted part of the forest. Any questions?”

Many burned through Carla’s mind, but she limited herself to asking only one of them, “Yeah… how do you guys get everything? And what are Kepps? Where are we?” Carla’s curiosity got the better of her, and she knew one question certainly wouldn’t do. Ben chuckled at her curiosity, but Carla knew she wanted to know the same questions.

Trying to remember the order, Adela answered, putting thought in each question, “Kepps are the currency here, and we buy thing from the villagers.” Carla wanted to ask a question about the villagers, but Ben squeezed her arm, quieting her. “Many of us go work at jobs to earn Kepps, and together we’ve been really lucky to get everything. And about where we are… well, I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you.”

Carla’s heart dropped to her stomach, and she felt Ben stiffen beside her.

“Why not?” Ben urged, trying to coax the answer out of their little tourguide.

Adela shrugged her shoulders. “Well… I mean, I guess I could…” Her resistance was fading against Ben and Carla’s eager faces. She quickly added, “Just don’t tell Remmy I told you.”

Carla bursted out, “Deal!” knowing it wouldn’t be a hard promise to keep, since she had no clue who this ‘Remmy’ was.

“Okay… well the thing is, we don’t know where we are.” Carla’s hopes plummeted. “But we’re think we’re positive of one thing…” Adela glanced at Tancred, “we’re not on Earth anymore.”

Carla’s vision blurred and everything grew darker and quieter, only hearing Tancred’s shout of “Dinnertime!” before she hit the floor.

P.P.P.P.S. Bleh. Not a good writing day.

Dear Carla,

Because I’m going to record this letter after I write it (as a special bonus thing) it’ll be shorter than normal, or the file will be too big.

I got back from rehearsals about an hour ago and have decided that I absolutely hate it when people compare you to others. Really, could anything be more frustrating than being constantly told: “do it like Jamie did it!” See, it wasn’t directed at me (that comment), but I was just sitting there, feeling my skin prickle as I watched it.

For some reason our director thinks everything is hilarious, and the part that everyone hates - he thinks is incredibly funny. I think he must be on some pill or something. Maybe to soothe his blatant homosexuality?

And yes, the British ARE critical. We’re critical because someone has to be. Can you imagine in the war if we’d have been like: “Oh Hitler. You killed a couple of Jews. A couple of red heads. A couple of Russians. What the hey! Keep going! B+!”

NO! We needed to say: “HITLER! SHUT THE HELL UP AND GET BACK TO POKIPSY!”

I have also decided today that I love receiving a text. It’s the equivalent of getting a letter. You never know who it’s from and it’s almost always hilarious. Almost always.

Lots of love,

Your sneezy (HAY FEVER) friend,

Ben.

P.S Remember this letter is short so as not to bore anyone who wants to listen to my voice. There should be a download option somewhere in this letter. Cross fingers everyone!

P.P.S I really liked your story!

P.P.P.S Ben ducked into the hole next to Carla and the girl.

“Are you Tancred?” he whispered.

“Shut up,” she said, fierily. “Wait until that has gone to ask questions.”

The red smoke was twisting on the ground, writhing around like a fish out of water. It began to circle the area, and Ben could hear that buzzing noise, like angry wasps again. His heart thudded in his chest. How could it possibly see where it was going?

The red smoke began to disappear, rising upwards into the sky. Ben felt the dull thudding of pain leave his head as it moved. The girl next to him turned to them, somehow confident it wasn’t going to come back.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m Tancred.”

Though she was filthy, Ben could tell she would be very pretty normally. She had the cheekbones of a model, and the glaring eyes of a warrior. Her white blonde hair was crudely cropped short and she seemed awkward in her summer dress, torn and dirtied.

“I’m sure you have millions of questions,” she said, empathetically. “Now is the time to ask. Others will have just as many for you when you arrive.”

Ben paused. Carla began to play with the dirt beneath her.

“How did you know we were here?” Ben asked.

Tancred smiled.

“There are a few who the light or smoke, are connected with,” she explained. “It invades bodies, and uses them as hosts - like a virus. It only lasts for a few hours, but afterwards a connection is left. It’s a thin web, that connects us with it.”

Carla raised a hand to Ben’s shoulder.

“He-,” she began. “Ben… That thing came out of him.”

“Yes,” Tancred nodded. “The virus. It duplicates itself inside the brain. Severe headache? Thought so.”

Ben could feel a huge weight being lifted.

“So…there’s no more danger?” he asked.

“As long as there is no more pain,” the blonde girl replied.

“What is that thing? And why does it make that noise…like a snake?” Carla asked.

“We know nothing,” Tancred said, disappointingly. “It comes to feed each day. We fight it off if we can, but sometimes it takes a life.”

“How do you fight it?” Ben whispered.

Tancred opened her hand and showed what she had been carrying. It was an iPod. A piece of technology had scared away what had carved off the flesh of a boy.

“It’s terrified of electricity. It scatters when it sees it,” she explained. “And as for that hissing sound - what was your name? Carla… We all hear different things. It manifests itself differently for everyone.”

Ben suddenly felt glum.

“You don’t know anything?” he asked.

“I know,” Tancred said, looking up, with tears in her eyes. “And we’ve been here for three years.”

P.P.P.P.S (VERY IMPORTANT!) HERE IS THE LINK! IT IS A MEGAUPLOAD LINK AND IS PLAYABLE ON ITUNES (IT IS A .WAV FILE!)

CLICK HERE NOW TO DOWNLOAD!

ALSO:

MOST ADDICTIVE SONG IN THE LAND IS HERE (Seriously, it’s a crap song but the drums just make me click back!)

Dear Ben,

I have a random burst of inspire ness, so I’m just going to write whatever is on my mind right now.  Currently, it’s a story.  I have a very active imagination.  Don’t judge it please, it’s brain vomit.

Travis felt the world tightening around him, finding it hard to breathe.  The teacher droned on, “… been missing for about 48 hours now, and her house was broken into.  If you see her anywhere, then tell someone of authority right away.  I don’t think anyone in this class was close friends with her, but we still cannot let this go on without putting in our part…”

The teacher was so wrong.  Travis immediately regretted their friendship not being more broadcasted, then Miss Linsham wouldn’t go into so much detail.  It was brutal to sit though, and his mind drifted off into terrible thoughts.  He couldn’t help thinking about what he had never told her.  They had been friends, the greatest of friends, but there was something behind their friendship, that could evolve it into something more than that.  Neither of them ever chose to admit it, yet both knew it was there.

Travis loved her.

Not in just the brotherly love he had always felt for her, but the love two mates share between each other.  And now she might never know.  He desperately tried to think of their last conversation.  It came to him, as clear as if it were five minutes ago.  They had been talking on the phone, and Charlotte was complaining about the thunderstorm.  He had teasingly told her to stop complaining, and they just rambled on about school.  Nothing important, except what she brought up at the end of their phone call.

She had told him, “Y’know Travis, I don’t know what I’d do without you.  I don’t know if I can call you my best friend, because you’re so much more than that.  If something ever happened to you, I’d be devastated.”

Those words played throughout his head all day.

That was weird.  If I have any more bouts, I’m just going to put them in, whether their good or not.  No edits either.  About Ben’s Bubbly Book Bash, (ITS CALLED THAT YOU FOOL), I have never heard of that book, but I have heard of Gossip Girl.  Surprisingly enough, I haven’t gotten around to reading it yet.  I’ll see if I can read a copy by next week and whatnot.

I’ve come to a realization.  British people are very critical.  I mean, let’s take a look at you, you’re very critical of everything.  (I’m not saying that’s a bad thing!)  Like, you notice things in movies/books/poems that I would be like, “Whaa..?”  Why I generalize it to British people in general?  Well, there’s Simon on American Idol, he’s always the most critical of them all, but he usual speaks true, as well as the British guy on Dancing with the Stars whose name escapes me right now.  I mean, you British people are critical, but you know what you’re talking about.  It must be the water.  It enhances your ability to critique.

Hehehe.

I think you could be a script writer.  I mean, you always write short little plays.  And you are very witty, and veyr cool.  Or you could be a professional actor, although we might need to work on your American Accent.  Hahahahaha.   Speaking of Hair, go listen to the musical.  It’s funnarious.

The next two months were a blur to Charlotte.  Every day, a man came in and fed her some foul-tasting food, asked her a couple of questions, and then regagged her and left her in the room.  She was often beaten, and learned to get used to the pain.

She promised herself she would make it out of there alive.  She had to.  There was people depending on her, regrets she needed to fix, and things she needed to tell people.

The night of her return was bright.  Car lights shone in her face, making her squint.  There was a lot of shouting and horrific noises, and Charlotte was positive she heard gunshots.  All she could do was roll into a tiny ball until a police man rescued her.  She was carried off to the Emergency Room, to be checked to see if she had any head trauma.

Fortunately, she was okay on the inside, but her outside looked like a mess.  Bruises covered her body, cuts littering her face.  She had become incredibly thin, giving her an appearance of looking fragile.  She spent most of her day looking out of the window, hoping for Travis to come.  Would he still remember her?  It had been two months.  He probably forgotten her existance.

BLEGH.  I’m not liking it that much.  Today is a blah day.  I’ve been spacing off in all of my classes, drawing pictures of how I want my club house to look.  I’ve taken your idea a step further… I’ll show you a picture when it’s all done.

OH, wanna hear something sucky?  Okay, so I have Relay for Life this weekend. (Not unlucky part)  I also have my piano contest, which I have been preparing for about 5 months, that same weekend, the day after relay for life (Unlucky part).  Meaning, I’m playing Moonlight Sonata on no hours of sleep.  Joy.  In the senior division too, against 17-18 year olds.  Boo.

Travis hadn’t forgotten.  It was impossible to.  Charlotte and him had grown so close… when she disappeared, it was a part of him that went missing, too.  He made a resolution to visit her in the hospital, and tell her then and there he loved her.

Obviously his courage ran out when he got there.  Her face stunned him.  It was twisted into a shape of pain, a cut the size of his hand streaking down her forehead, a bruise the size of a baseball on her cheek.  He struggled to maintain his composure, and almost threw the flowers at her.  He couldn’t stand to see her like this.  When she realized he was there, a smile lit up her face.  She motioned him over and hugged him, and they just stared at each other in silence, more amazed than awkward.  So many words to say, but neither of them said anything.

“I missed you,” Travis broke the silence.  Charlotte looked at him, about to say something more when her face sunk in to a black swirl, overcoming the room.  Travis screamed, but the darkness occupied the room like a deadly serpant.  He screamed running out of the room when-

-the bell rang.  Charlotte shoved Travis’s arm.  “Wake up Travis, or we’re going to be late!”  She giggled, seeing his dumbfounded expression.  “Whatcha lookin’ so worried for?”  Travis looked stunned, stammering incoherently.  Charlotte giggled some more and pulled him up.  “What did you dream about?”  She curiously asked.

“A nightmare,” Travis replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  “But it made me realize how lucky I am right now.”  He slipped his hand into hers and kissed her.

“Funny,” Charlotte said, looking at him, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

Okay, now that that’s out of my system.  Homework is hard, yo!  I can’t wait until school is over, which is in 14 school days!  YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!  AND IN 11 DAYS I SEE PANIC! AT THE DISCO, THE HUSH SOUND (<3<3<3<3<3), PHANTOM PLANET, AND MOTION CITY SOUNDTRACK.  AYEEEE!!  Except Sammi hasn’t R.S.V.P.’d yet saying she could go, and I need the monies.  Hrm…

Oh, Beeennnnnn.  I say tomorrow, your challenge is to record your letter, after you write it.  Eh, eh, eh?

Much love,
Your friend who wonders why she always write these letters so late at night,
Carla

P.S. Long story tomorrow… FOR REAL THIS TIME.

P.P.S. WHY DO YOU KILL MY POTENTIAL LOVE INTEREST IN THE STORY??!?

Hahahahahahhaha.  I’m totally joking, don’t worry, I keed, i keed.

P.P.P.S. “CALM DOWN, CARLA!” Ben shouted, exasperated.  She shut up.  “We’re going to die if we don’t run, so we need to run, and we need to run NOW!”  He shoved her out of the cave and began pulling her along.  Carla blindly ran, not wanting to burst into flames.  But that boy… she only met him, but he looked so familiar.  The way he died too… she shuddered, the only thing she could do to stop herself from sobbing again.  Rubbing her eyes as they ran, Carla wasn’t paying attention to obstacles on the ground until she found her face planted into the mud which she had been running on not too long ago.

“What the fuck was that?”  Carla looked around, trying to find the source of her fall.  She spotted a blue stone, shining brightly in the mud.  “B-b-b-ben,” she stuttered, pointing at the stone.  “Didn’t he say something about a blue rock?”  She tried to shove the memory of Will coughing blood out of her mind.

Ben frantically looked around, knowing they must be close.  He tugged at his hair, trying to think of where this ‘Tancred Turnbull’ could be.  Unless this was a trap.  He tried to voice his fears to Carla, but was interrupted by another outrageous headache.

Ignoring the pain, he grabbed Carla and shoved her onto the ground.  The last time this headache happened, someone had died.  He wasn’t going to risk it being Carla.  The ground began to tremble beneath them.  The red vicious light was ready to feast again, searching the ground.  Carla felt her foot burning, the worst pain she had ever felt.  But then it ceased - something was stopping it.  She gazed upon a girl with her hands up, holding an object, yelling at her and Ben to get into a whole in the ground, one that hadn’t been there a few moments earlier.  Knowing she was going to die either way, Carla willingly jumped into it, engulfing herself in a world of darkness.

Dear Carla,

You never answered my query about the poem, but that’s okay. I do really want to think of a theme though. I’d write about a personal experience, but I have none. I’d write something about love or death, but it’s pretentious. I’d choose open verse, but it’s snotty. I’d refrain from entering, but that’d be failure. Now, I’m going to splatter my muse onto this letter, so here is a random poem (I feel like it, excuse me):

they say she was born silently,

the apple of her mother’s inner quiet eye,

always the middle and never the oldest,

or eldest, as she used to say

to mother on those occasions,

she lived in shadow,

a sapling growing beneath an oak,

cut short, too soon, such a shame,

she never blossomed,

is what they said,

taken too soon,

death crept behind us all.

Seriously drawing from my anti-love, Seamus Heaney. I seriously hope you don’t find poetry boring, because my letter is going to be full of it today.

BEN’S BOOK CLUB TUESDAY:

Yes, it’s that time of the no one gives a crap about week, Carla! Today I’ll be doing a tiny review of a filthily bad book:

DEMON APOCALYPSE 

BY DARREN SHAN

Yes, the title makes it seem as bad as it is. And it is bad. It is a trashy book. It’s the equivalent of Gossip Girl for boys. I’ve been reading these for about 5 years now, so I had to continue with the sequel. The book centers around a boy, Grubbs, who has magical powers and can kill demons. Ooo, original! I would explain in detail about it, but it’s complicated and leads on from many books.

There are so many faults in this book. It is poorly written, and the realism of the characteristics of the characters and direct speech is appalling. The reader ends up hating the protagonist sheerly through the way he is characterized. The plot is weak too, and incredibly predictable, save a few “twists”.

It does have its few pros though, which include graphic description (though only using more than one syllable on occasion) and the gripping-ness of it. The book is made for a day in bed, if you just want something to read for a couple of hours. It’s popcorn reading.

Weighing everything into account, I’d give the book a D+

I’m reading the Slaughterhouse 5 now, but don’t expect me to finish it by next BBCT, because of the play.

Speaking of reviewing - I feel the reason Baby Mama was so bad is because Tina Fey didn’t have a part in writing it. It’s such a huge error to use such a comedic talent at writing as an actress. Tina is great in Mean Girls and 30 Rock but she’s not a silverscreen type. Unfortunately.

sitting at the bedside

i recall tales of “the curious incident of the dog in the night time”

and rhymes about alcoholism,

the smile i love you best for is strained on your lips,

even now,

covered in down and cotton

you recite the bible to me,

not religiously,

but for love of the language that flows off your tongue,

though life wanes away

there is burning twinkle in your eyes,

a sign of your vibrancy.

 

and so you turn to me and i hear your soft words, for one, last, perfect moment:

“night, night, ben.”

That one was a true story. I miss Granny.

My challenge for today is to write two poems! HOLY SHIT! I didz it already! (Your challenge carries over).

I could never be a scriptwriter. I am not witty or cool enough. And I have too much hair. And I mean on my head. Foo’

Frigging hell I’m tired, so I’m gonna peace my way off this letter today. Imma hoping (that’s a HOPE) to have something cool to say tomorrow. Or at least less hair.

Lots of love,

Your unwitty (twitty) friend,

Ben.

P.S Ben’s head exploded with pain. He could feel intense pressure on his skull, that felt as if his brain was expanding on himself. His eyes were being squeezed outwards and his throat was closing up. Will looked at him, absolutely shocked.

“Fuck! FUCK! FUCK!” he screamed, and began to run.

Suddenly, Ben vomited onto the floor, but instead of bile - light poured out of him, as if he had exhaled. It was not the silvery, gold light they saw before - but now an angry red light, that twisted like smoke - but still glowed. It rushed around the cave, and began to chase the fleeing Will. It buzzed, as if one hundred thousand angry wasps were near them. Ben’s hair was standing on end. The pain had eased, but his heart was pounding in his chest. The light twirled around Will, almost daintily, and closed in, like ropes. The noise of buzzing stopped and a noise like a drill began. Will was screaming. It was a scream full of pain, that pierced Ben’s ears. Ben’s eyes widened as he saw Will’s flesh being scraped off. Blood was pouring onto the ground and Will’s eyes glazed over. The light shot into the sky, like some kind of rocket. Will began to gag and tried to speak:

“Don’t…come…near me,” he choked. “It’ll come back…if you do. Stay in…the…ca-ca-ve for an hour…it will have fed…by then. Then…head…west. West… Towards the….brock…the bl…the…bruerock…the blue rock.”

He spat up blood. He didn’t have long left now. He took a huge breath in order to say his final command.

“There’s fifty…fifty or so kids up there. Ask for Tancred Turnbull…she’ll keep you safe…unless you-”

Will suddenly coughed. It was grating noise, and a huge pocket of blood flew out of his mouth. A trickle of red smoke left him. He was dead. Carla burst into tears, mourning the loss of the child she had known for just a few minutes.

“We’re going to fucking…fucking DIE!”

Dear Ben,

Well I’m writing this letter as you are writing yours, but you don’t know it yet.  I’m hoping that if I publish it soon enough after yours, you’ll go on AIM.  :D  This will probably never happen, but oh well.  Aww man!  You just published your letter.  There goes my plan.

Just because I know you’re dying to know, the problem between Sammi and I was resolved later that day, through text messaging. (lol LAMEEEE).  I showed her the error of her ways and eventually she backed off and the next day at our Relay for Life bake sale all was normal again.  But, whatever y’know?

And I’m quite depressed that no letters will come for almost a whole week.  Let’s just get one thing straight though, THIS BLOG WILL NOT DIE.  :]  But don’t worry, that works out perfectly because I will be studying for finals next week, so I need less temptation to go on the computer.  Oh, and I’ve decided that Monday’s are going to be “Carla’s Movie Mondays.”  YES I HAD TO GO FOR ALLITERATION.  Well since summer is starting to show it’s big beautiful head, I have more time to go to the movies.  I mean, last week was Iron Man, and this week is…

Baby Momma

Synopsis: So this is a movie about a single woman, Kate Holbrook (Tina Fey) who has always put her work ahead of her personal life.  Now that she is 37, she really wants a baby.  Unfortunately, she finds out that the chances of her having a baby of very slim, so she hires a surrogate.  Everything is going good until one day, the surrogate Angie Ostrowiski (Amy Poehler), shows up on Kate’s doorstep with no where to live.  Through out the movie, we see the relationships between the outgoing surrogate and the well-organized, uptight business woman and the comedy that happens between them.

That’s a really bad synopsis, but oh well.

My take on the movie.  It’s okay, but not good enough to go and see in theaters.  Wait until it comes out on DVD/VHS before you go waste a perfectly good 9 dollars, because it’s not worth it.  This is one of those movies where the trailer is better than the movie itself.  Like Pirates of the Caribbean 3, whose trailer made me wait those months in anticipation for something bigger and better.  Unfortunately for Baby Momma, all of the best jokes were placed in the trailer, taking out some of the charm.  On top of that, it was really predictable, especially towards the end.  So if you don’t see it, don’t feel like you’re missing out on anything big - you’re not.

And you know the movie can’t be that great if I didn’t think it was too hot.  I mean, if Ben doesn’t like a movie that much, then we have hope that it may still be good, because Ben is very critical.  (Well you are, there’s no shame in that.  You pay more attention than I do.  :D)  But me, I just show up, glue my eyes to the screen, leave, bada bing bada boom.

Rating for this movie: C+

Transitioning back into the letter, I have no ideas for your poetry contest.  I don’t know if you’ve heard my poetry at all, but I suck rotten eggs.  Asking me for ideas probably isn’t very smart, hahaha.  I do like the inexperience idea though, or you could do about how things didn’t seem to matter as much when you were little and how younger kids have courage to do greater things.  I dunno, that probably is salmon cat vomit coming out of my fingers, but hey, it’s an idea!

I have never seen X-Men 3.  You’re Tina Fey obsession sometimes scares me.  Those sentences have no relation to each other and should be in separate paragraphs.

Ben, I think you should go write plays/movies.  Be a movie director, or a producer.  I think you’d be good at it.  You have a name that people would remember, and when you give your speech for winning 10 oscars, you can thank me for giving you the idea and providing you with lots of support.

Hah.

I always think those speeches sound so cheesy.  I mean, of course they’re going to thank and namedrop everyone they know.  Plus they’re always so long.  I remember this one comedian did a thank-you speech that I really enjoyed… he said people that he DIDN’T thank, because there were so many people to thank.  He was a comedian, so he was like:

“I don’t want to thank my 5th grade teacher Mr. So-and-so, who said, ‘Sit down and shut up, you’re not funny.’  Ha ha.  I don’t want to thank blahblahblah…”

Maybe it’s me, but that has more creativity than thanking your parents and family.  I mean, yes, you should, but if it’s the 70th time you’ve done it, switch it up a little, y’know?

I have never heard of Donnie Darko.  Cloverfield is idea-posing off of the Blair Witch Project, another movie I have not seen.  I really need to go and watch the old classics.  Like The Poltergiest, 1993 version.  Ahh, good times.  That movie was very thrill-making.

B.S. (Before Signature, or Bullshit) - WE NEED TO TALK ON SKYPEEEE.  Because I’m deprived of British accents, and on international fake british accent day, I couldn’t do one properly and it’s all your fault!  >:D  Oh and DANIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEELLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, we should probably set up times for our podcast over the summer times… considering we’re still going through with it.  Are we?  Chatting on that sorta stopped.  Very dizzy-making.

Ben-la, tomorrow I will participate in your bubbly Ben’s Book Bash Ba-Tuesday, and I’ll explain why I’m talking with words like dizzy-making and such.  HINT: I SAID IT ON METROBUZZ.  (Or Colleen did.)  (Name drop)  (Wheewwww)

Okay I should shut up now.

Much love,
Your friend whose eyelids droop while she’s writing this and she sorta wants to skip writing the story again,
Carla

P.S. You’re challenge is to think of a challenge for you.  Hehe.

P.P.S. CLICK ON LETTERSFROMACROSSTHEPOND.WORDPRESS.COM

P.P.P.P.S. I lol’d at my reaction int he story.  Oh and there’s a random “Qu” at the end of your story, so I’m going to pretend I don’t see it there, but I read the story over at shared story…  And I’ll write a long part tomorrow… i promise!

P.P.P.P.P.S. Carla ran along with them, struggling to keep up.  Too much was happening at once for her, she could hardly stop herself from having another sobbing fit.  She tried to call out them, telling them to wait, but whenever she opened her mouth, she only started crying again.  Her vision blurred with tears, Carla hardly noticed that they were slowing down, until they stopped and Ben had to grab her, or she would have kept on running.  The boy ushered them into a cave, shushing them while he stood watch.  After what seemed like decades, he faced them.

“Sorry about that, but you guys must know that the light is very dangerous.  Once you’re exposed to it, it plays with your head, as well as fate.  You guys were lucky you didn’t die… we’ve had some close calls.”  A look of remorse creeped onto his face, as if he was remembering a foul memory.  Silence covered the room, until he broke it with, “I’m Will, by the way.  Who are you guys?”

Carla had stopped crying by now, her tears swallowed up by fear.  She managed to stammer out, “C-C-Carla… and he’s Ben.”  She analyzed Will, taking in the sight of him.  He looked to be a little bit taller than Ben, with a lean, strong figure.  His blond hair was matted and clung to his face, and he was covered in dirt.  Carla couldn’t help thinking that if Chelsea had been here, she would have been urging Carla to go flirt with him.  Becoming emotional, Carla shoved the memory out of her mind and decided to ask if the boy knew where they were, when Ben let out a sickening scream, clutching his forehead with his hand.

Dear Carla,

Before I begin. I’d like to excuse myself next week from Monday to Thursday - because of the play. There is no way I’ll be able to write a letter those days, so I’m really sorry. Hope you can forgive me in your big fat juicy slobbery delicious warm heart.

Something smells deliciously juicy, roasting in the kitchen. Which reminds me of how hungry I am.

OH YES. I remember what I wanted to say. I have a poetry competition going on right now. Okay, let me rephrase that.

The school has a poetry competition running right now, and I’m stumped for ideas as to what to write about. I could be pretentious and fake and write about love or death, neither of which I’m experienced with. I could write something neo-philosophical and try to be intelligent but end up failing miserably.

I was thinking of doing something about naivety and inexperience and how you never really realize you’re naive until you look back - but it’s too long winded for a poem. I need help Carla! Help! Help!

I saw Iron Man on Saturday and after listening to Metrobuzz I heard you really liked it. I did-ish. Okay, here’s the deal. The first half of the movie was spectacular. It wasn’t predictable - it was interesting - it was clever and it was cool, but once Tony returns from…you know where, it was so predictable. It was stupidly predictable, and pointless, in fact and it felt like two movies. It felt like it had been done by two different directors who were filming with completely different actors. It suddenly turned from this super intelligent, well filmed, well scripted piece - to this cheesy, looking for laughs and gasps, badly done film. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy the movie - because I did. It’s a popcorn movie. It’s made for going out to see if you just want thrills. But as a superhero blockbuster - it pales in comparison to Batman. And hey, this is coming from the guy who liked X-Men 3. A lot.

I’d give the movie a B. (I think if we review movies or books from now on, we should grade them)

Speaking of movies. There are so many good ones coming out! I don’t actually know if I want to see Baby Mama, since it wasn’t done by Tina Fey - she only acts in it. But I guess I could see it to see her fine piece o’ ass.

You know what movie I want to see? A really dirty, not looking to make millions, superhero movie. I want to see a movie where the superheroes swear when they get hit. Where they bleed when they get stabbed. When it rains sometimes. Where the streets are dirty.

Kind of like Batman Begins. But with more awesome.

I just love to see an inovative, creative film done. That’s why I loved Cloverfield and why I just love Hitchcocks. For example, Rear Window. Who would have such a clever idea to play on the human psyche as Hitchock and his band of merry writers?

That’s also why I love the Twilight Zone. Unfortunately they never showed it here, and I’ve only grabbed a couple of episodes-

OH FUCK! Did you hear? Sorry! Sorry! THEY ARE MAKING A SEQUEL TO DONNIE DARKO! HOW FUCKING STUPID COULD YOU BE? That damn director is such a cash pig. His last movie bombed, so he has to resort to a sequel. dksjdhsakjhdhsd. Here is the PerezHilton post:

A sequel to cult film classic Donnie Darko is in the works.

Nooooooooooo!!!!!!!

The title of the sequel is S. Darko and it starts shooting on May 18th.

Daviegh Chase will reprise her role as Donnie’s younger sister. The cast for S. Darko also includes Ed Westwick (Gossip Girls’ Chuck Bass!),Briana Evigan (Step Up 2) and Justin Chatwin (Dragon Ball).

The story picks up seven years after the first film (and Donnie’s death) when little sister Samantha Darko and her best friend Corey are now 18 and on a roadtrip to Los Angeles when they are plagued by bizarre visions.

There’s no Donnie at all in the new film (sorry Jake Gyllenhaal fans), but there will be meteorites and rabbits.

We really wish they would’ve left Darko alone.

What are YOUR thoughts on the sequel?

How frigging sucky is that? Why would you do that?

I won’t dwell on that topic any longer, but I would like to remind you that tomorrow is Ben’s Book Club Tuesday, and I have a book lined up for review and another book which I am going to start reading ASAP.

Oh, and Sammi sounds like an idiot. No offence to her.

Lots of love,

Your sort of laughing at his own friends friend,

Ben.

P.S Okay! Carla, I want 1000 views by the end of this week. That is your challenge. YOU ARE TO ADVERTISE THIS BLOG IN PEOPLE’S FACES. Whether it be your next letter is just spam, or whatever. That is your challenge.

Oh, and readers - COMMENT!

P.S Gnats buzzed around their head. The jungle was turning to swamp now as the ground became more and more sodden. They had been walking for at least an hour now, and neither Ben nor Carla had said a word. Ben found a dry patch and sat down. He out-turned his pockets, and found coins and his bus pass in there. He looked up at Carla, who was still holding the stick in her hand. As he looked into her eyes, she burst into tears.

“Where the hell are we Ben?” she sobbed. “We’re fucking lost! We’re going to die out here! I’m going to fucking die of thi-”

She couldn’t continue. She broke down in tears. Ben hesitated for a moment, before rubbing her back.

“Carla,” he said, biting his lip to hold back his own tears, “if we die. We both die. We’re together in this.”

Carla nodded, and screwed up her eyes. As they sat there, there was a crack of twigs nearby. Ben froze, and Carla grabbed his hand for security which he could not lend. A small, mousy figure rose from behind a tree. It was a boy, who was dressed in pajamas and mud, from head to toe. He was clasping a water bottle, and Ben immediately recognised him as William Bryant. One of the boys who had gone missing. The boy stood there for a minute, glancing around, and then broke the silence with an urgent:

“Did the light get you? Did you see the light? You need to follow me, no time for any answers. You’re lucky to be alive!”

This was said at a rapid pace. Ben did not even glance at Carla, before running to follow the boy.