Lasagna Land (A Newsboys [Puns-Intended {Cheesy}] Fanfic)

1.6 Ten Thousand Miles (or so)

"How far is this Marinara Trench?" John complained.

"I don't know, anywhere from three seconds to three days away, I'd guess," Boris attempted to shrug.

"I'm just gonna assume ya've never been there," Peter added.

Boris bowed his head-body in shame. "No."

The boyz were still diligently traversing the pasta pavement, following the directions of their meatball buddy. Or annoying pest, depending on who you asked.

In the skies above, ricotta clouds were gathering and obscuring the tomato-red sky. The wind, which had earlier been either stagnant or a gentle breeze, was picking up. The boyz hoped this either meant they were close to the trench, or that when they did reach the trench, there'd be shelter.

In the lead was, surprisingly, Jeff, who was keeping watch on the horizon for an outcropping of marinara. Up with him was Jody, scanning the sights just as diligently, and twiddling with a block of wood with his hands. Jeff would every so often give the unconventional hobby cube a curious glance, but finally gave up trying to figure out the guitarist's plan and just let it go.

Behind them were the Aussies: John, Duncan (with Boris in hand), and Peter. Peter held the Italian map out in front of him, constantly comparing their place in the world around to a place on the map. Even if he wasn't always right.

Jeff felt a change in the surface under his feet. He looked down and saw a layer of saucy 'slush' beginning to envelop his shoes. He then looked over to Jody, who was already looking at him. They silently nodded their in-sync thoughts, then Jody called over his shoulder to the Aussie trio.

"We're almost there!"

John countered with a dubious look. "What makes ya so sure?"

"This sign that says 'Marinara Trench, 15 Noodles,'" Jeff triumphantly smirked, leaning an elbow on the cheese-cut sign that somehow held his weight.

"Thank you, Lord above!" John cheered, lifting hands in praise as he ran to the sign. His excitement transferred to the bearer of fabulous news, and he took Jeff in an almost-toppling hug.

"Somebody's getting impatient," Duncan sighed.

"We're all getting impatient, Squiz," Peter countered. "I dunno how you're still so perky."

"Just am," he shrugged. Looking down at Boris he asked, "how far's fifteen noodles, anyway?"

Boris looked Duncan up and down, then Peter. "A noodle's probably about a Sir Peter long, so fifteen Sir Peter-lengths, I'd say."

"Or we can ditch the drummer-distance and just use our eyes to see the giant red trench dead ahead." Jeff suggested, with a twinge of sarcasm.

"What giant red trench?" Duncan countered.

"You'll see it when you crest the hill you didn't know you're on."

And at that moment, the Aussies crested the hill and saw it.

Stretched on the plain below was a trench. A beautiful carving, a crack in the earth's surface. Jeff noted the proper lasagna-layers shown through the natural wonder. At the bottom there was a river of marinara sauce flowing through the landscape. This wasn't a trench; it was the Grand Canyon of Lasagna Land.