Probably not the weirdest thing I’ve ever written...

Ginger: “What’s that?”

Mary Ann: “I think it’s...a person!”

Professor: “A native? You’d think after all the time we’ve been here we’d have encountered one much earlier.”

Mrs. Howell: “Professor, do you think she’s safe to approach?”

Gilligan: “Of course she is! She probably weighs ninety pounds soaking wet.”

Skipper: “Last I checked you’re not the professor, Gilligan. And you’re one to talk.”

Gilligan: “Poke her with a stick and see if she moves.”

Mr. Howell: “I will not! The indignity!”

Mrs. Howell: “Oh, I love that glossy green shawl she’s wearing. I wonder if it’s Dior?”

Skipper: “Mrs. Howell that is not a shawl. It’s seaweed. And the gloss is slime.”

Professor: “She’s opening her eyes!”

Me: “Ugh. Where am I?”

Gilligan: “Do you speak English?”

Ginger: “Gilligan...she just did.”

Me: *whispers groggily* “Why am I soaking wet? I...must’ve fallen overboard.”

Professor: “Where did you come from, young lady? You don’t strike me as an indigenous person, so I’m assuming you’re from elsewhere.”

Me: “I must’ve come from...the sea.”

Gilligan: “She’s a mermaid! I knew it! They grow legs on land ya’ know.”

Skipper: “Oh, enough of your ridiculous mythology, Gilligan! She probably fell off a boat and got coughed up by the tide.”

Mary Ann: “Well, she sorta’ just said that, sooo...”

Mr. Howell: “Oh, hooray. Last thing we need is another mouth to feed. One thing the recession taught me, too much charity is bad for business. I say we leave her to her own devices. If she’s resourceful, she’ll be fine.”

Gilligan: “And if she’s not?”

Mr. Howell: “Survival of the fittest, my boy.”

Mrs. Howell: “Oh Thurston, how can you say that! We can make room for one more.”

Me: “Guys. I hate to interrupt, but where am I?”

Professor: “What’s this place called again?”

Gilligan: “It’s an island.”

Professor: “I know THAT. I mean the name of the island?”

Skipper: “I...I’m not really sure. When the boat capsized and washed us up I couldn’t get a bearing on the coordinates. It didn’t help that I’d swallowed enough saltwater to sink a whale.”

Gilligan: “Ooo, I know. How about we call it Gilligan’s Island?”

Skipper: “Nah, that’ll never catch on.”

Ginger: “Why does the island get to be named after you? By that logic my vote is for Ginger Island.”

Mr. Howell: “I quite like the ring of ‘Howell Island’. It’ll be a nice addition to the others.”

Professor: “Erm, point is, young lady, we don’t really know. We’re stranded here just like you. We’ve been here for seventy-nine days and seventy-eight nights.” *everyone looks at him* “What? ...I kept count.”

*Gilligan steps up*

Gilligan: “I dunno’ about you guys, but I think we should let her stay with us. It might be dangerous out there, especially for a girl.” *gets punched by both Mary Ann and Ginger, one from each side* *cowers sheepishly*

Professor: “It would be the moral thing to do. Alright everyone, let’s take a vote. All in favor say aye.”

*All do except Mr. Howell*

Professor: “Alright. It’s settled.”

Mr. Howell: *as everyone walks away, returning to camp* “What about nay? Nay. NAAAY!”

Gilligan: “Now’s not the time for horse impressions, Mr. Howell. We’ve got a new guest to greet.”

(Later that night after the rest had gone to bed, Gilligan found me sitting near the shore, watching the tide.)

Gilligan: “Hey, mind if I join you?”

Me: “Sure. I was just thinking. You guys have been out here for all those days. I guess there’s not much chance of a quick rescue. Then again, who am I to complain?”

Gilligan: “You’re not too broken up about the whole castaway thing, are you?”

Me: “Well, I suppose it could be worse. I could’ve been marooned alone, somewhere colder like the Arctic. At least here I don’t have to cut open a seal and crawl inside.”

Gilligan: “That’s...one way to look at it.” *glances at me with a hint of fear in his eyes* “Do you think about doing that often?”

Me: “No. I...nevermind.”

Gilligan: “I know it probably hurts that you won’t get to see your family for a while. There’s a lotta’ downsides to this setup. But hey, at least we got the stars, right? I’m not the smartest guy, as you’ve probably...deduced by now, but I know there’s always something to be grateful for. The sky here is always really clear. You can see straight into the universe. See?” *points*

Me: “I think you’re sweet. I’d rather have a sweet guy than a smart guy. Uh—no offense. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Gilligan: *smiles a little* “I know.”

Me: “Ugh. I still don’t know what to call this place. Since you’ve been the nicest to me I guess I can give you the honors. Gilligan’s Island.”

Gilligan: “Nah. Skipper’s right. I don’t think that’ll ever catch on.”

(Later on in my thatched tent...)

Dissonance stirred me from sleep. I checked on a soft rustling outside, just to find nothing there. Culminations of paranoia began to take shape, so to calm my nerves I decided to go for a walk. And I did. Right to the edge of our little encampment. The tents were set up on one end. And the other end was empty apart from equipment and trees. Once surrounded by trees I trudged on till I found myself at the precipice of a clearing, then a drop. The cliffs had been closer than I’d realized. Suddenly a figure emerged from the brush behind me. Moonlight fell into its eyes, turning it half-demonic in appearance. A bit more moonlight brushed it, and then I could see. It was just Mr. Howell. But why was he holding the spear the castaways had carved for hunting? Was he hunting in the dead of night?

The answer arrived when he thrust it at me. It barely missed, nicking my side. I stumbled back, mindful of the nearby drop. He was blocking the way back to camp. The only other ‘out’ was a clear dive off the cliff.

“What are you doing!” I cried.

“All those bleeding hearts out there might pity you, but I understand...” he replied. “Your body is too frail for you to be of any use in our survival, and I don’t see sustaining something that can’t at least return the investment. We’d lose, with you. And I don’t take losses.”

I dodged his spear again, a panic manifesting coldly in my gut. Was I really so transparent in my uselessness that he felt the need to murder me? Another dodge. He refused to relent.

Was this really going to turn into a ‘kill or be killed’ sort of thing? My mind whirred.

“Even Gilligan has his uses, Gilligan as he is,” Mr. Howell continued, brashly. “We’ve all devised a system to ensure every person contributes their fair share. But you...I didn’t gain my fortune being stupid. I can spot a deadbeat from a mile away. You’re nothing but a leech, a freeloader, and even if you don’t mean to be, you can’t help it...”

Another dodge.

“You’re just—”

Another.

“Too—”

Another.

“Weak!”

The cliff was one step behind me. I dared not look back. I could feel the updraft riding the rocks. It scaled my spine, icily.

“I can be of use...” my breath was shallow and my words stilted.

“Maddie!” Gilligan’s voice found me an inch from the edge. I saw him break the brush and lock eyes with Mr. Howell. “There you are,” he grinned, apparently oblivious to the blood-dripping spear in Mr. Howell’s hands. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Your tent was empty and I was worried you’d gotten discouraged and tried to...well, hurt yourself,” he finally caught glimpse of my injuries. “Oh no, you did! You did and I’m too late!”

“Gilligan, listen to me. I didn’t do this to myself. Mr. Howell is trying to kill me.”

“Well that’s not very nice,” Gilligan frowned at Mr. Howell. “I think you owe someone an apology, Mister.”

One blink later and he was the one dodging Mr. Howell’s spear.

“Not him!” I screamed, before I could even stop myself. “I’m the one you want. Over here!”

Mr. Howell ran his spear through Gilligan and returned attention to me, eyes moonlit and rabid. As he made his way to where I stood, I tearfully braced for the worst. Until the darnedest thing happened. A varicose root snagged his foot and sent him toppling. There was nothing to break his fall. The wind put up little resistance as he stumbled off the edge, and plunged into the black. Woah. Guess it really was ‘kill or be killed’. Though he kinda’ sorta’ killed himself.

My eyes scraped the dark ground until deciphering where Gilligan had fallen. I found him suspended somewhere between awake and asleep. But the cords were fraying. And I doubted his suspension would last much longer. Soon he’d fall into dreams, perhaps never to return. Was this it? Was he really dying?

“Gilligan, are you okay?” I shook him, then stopped myself. When had that ever helped do anything but paralyze someone? I moved where I could better see his face, and found a smile stretched contently from ear to ear.

“Yep,” he replied. “I can’t believe it either, but you know that fake thing actors do where one turns sideways to the audience and the other runs a blade between the first guy’s arm and body to look like he’s getting stabbed? Well...that happened here! He missed my body. In the dark it probably looked like he hit me...”

“Why did you fall over like that, then?” I panted in disbelief.

“Oh. A pesky root caught my foot. Man, those things are everywhere out here.”

I gave a faint sigh. How in the world was I going to explain this to the others? Oh well. I had Gilligan to back me up. He was still alive and kicking.

And yanno’, with him here, maybe being stranded wasn’t so bad.

#fiction

Disclaimer: The real Mr. Howell is not a murderous psychopath. I just picked him because, well, I suppose I had to pick *someone*. I have nothing against him. All the Gilligan peoples are cool. :3