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.