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

I allowed myself the splendor of flying too close to the sun, much like Icarus, only once. It was an incredible experience. Invigorating, yet deceptive. The higher you go the farther away from the sun you are. Its warmth can not be felt over the bitter cold atmosphere. Wetness stings your face and freezes as the thinning climate clings to your blue-tinted skin.

There is no air to breathe in when you're this high up. Even as the winds rip past you in a tremendous maelstrom your lungs burn from the lack of oxygen, but I couldn't stop. I had to know. I was up this high to do one thing. Test my limits. I had drifted up past tall buildings and I had skimmed mountain tops, I had felt the thin air bite at me before, but never like this. This was the Universe's way of saying stop. You have gone as far as humanly possible. Only humans, normal everyday walking on two legs humans, they couldn't fly. I could. And so I pushed farther on.

It's a funny feeling when you're propelling through the clouds. How silent the world below seems when the vapors around rumble and churn. Friction and electricity collide in great shows of testosterone-filled rage as they shift in and out of each other. You learn to fly fast and be ready. At any moment a colossal storm front can amass around you. These Deadly tempests devour everything in their path growing fat with gluttonous hunger.

The higher up I got the more it became evident that I too would fail in my attempts to reach the sun. Only I had no wax and feathered wings fashioned to my back. I had no wings at all. Instead, I had a great longing, an emptiness, and a lightness that I felt in my bones. I had a heart that would soon stop beating. Lungs that were about to explode. I had reached my limit.

I remember looking up into the brightness of the open empty sky and marveling at how vast the world really was. If only everyone could see the view from up here.

How insignificant it all is when the world is below you. I reached my hand out one last time hoping to feel something from the ball of burning gas that had brought me farther and higher than any other human before the darkness consumed me and I began my long descent.

I set my eyes upon the darkness

I felt its never-ending gloom

I wallowed in its sorrows

I drank from its vacant spoon.

I stepped into it gladly

Gladly it took my hand

Hand in hand we walked in silence

Silence showed its full command.

Commanding all that was in me

Me to weak and vulnerable to see

See the good behind me

Me in darkness we’re now Queens.

Queens of dark and tortured people

People too fragile to find their way

Way to crawl out of the silence

Silence would not reflect the light of day.

Day is bright and warm

Warm brings comfort to the soul

Soul feeds on what is given

Given to us all.

All of us are wanting

Wanting to feel the warm bright sun

Sun that fills the darkness

Darkness that consumes the human soul.

The way I see it.

You can teach a man to fish all day long, but if they can't afford the permit to fish he still can't fish.

You can send an addict to the most expensive rehab and spend all your hard-earned cash to get them clean and sober, but if the addict isn't ready they'll go right back to their addiction.

You can have 190 different available employment opportunities

But if those businesses won't hire people with a past, those people will still be jobless.

You can give food stamps and cash aid to the poverty-stricken and the elderly

But if you're not willing to TEACH them how to budget their money

They'll continue to use it frivolously.

You can send a student to the best college and they can earn the highest degrees

But if there aren't any open positions, they still won't be able to find a job in their field.

You can give a person a brand new home and cut their rent down to $30.00 a month

But if they don't know how to maintain that home, it will end up wrecked and broken.

You can erect a thousand homeless shelters and feed the homeless 3 Square meals a day

But unless their individual needs are addressed, they will still be homeless.

You can shout your opinions on POLITICS, ECONOMICS, RELIGION, and BELIEFS on every rooftop in every town,

But, that doesn't mean everyone who hears you will accept your point of view.

Freak! Precision drives your Type A soul,

behavior pathological.

Small details haunt; there's no restraint-

perfectionism dominates

as urgently you race toward goals.

Consumed, engrossed, you're swallowed whole

when your achievements are extolled;

their praise surely intoxicates.

Freak!

BUT, rigid order takes its toll

and stress and tension stage revolt;

your brain demands you moderate,

and, thus, a new thought emanates:

true beauty lies beyond control,

Freak!

i will not eat

i will not laugh

i will not seek sympathy

only i beg,

erase all of my memories

only, please

do not torture me

erase me from your memory

let that be my punishment

that i cannot remember or feel

i cannot stand the pain

i fall

crush me now

and forget my memory

let me pay for my sins

obliterate me

that i have no memory

or conscienceness

for all the wrongs

the stumbling in the dark

the senseless things i did

i know were never hid

from your sight

i could not really help myself

in my ignorance

my weakness

my utter blindness

is it possible to escape eternal torture?

if so

let me lose all conscienceness

i meant to hurt no one

the gratification of my flesh

i did not do it to hurt anyone

like a child

close to the pretty flame

unafraid to touch

burned to pain

of mind and tender soul

erase me now from your presence

let not my memory remain,

if only i could know

and see as clearly as you do

i am weak

you are infinitely strong

if only i had a body

without the taint of sin

i would know

i would totally succomb

to your will

i would refuse to live for me

with a new and different mind

my soul renewed

to be like you

i would rather live

if not then obliterate me

i only know

this awful world

is not for me

white is black

black is white

and nothing’s certain

in this miserable flesh

there is no end to evil

good and well today

in an instant before the sun

of tomorrow even sets

a billion wrongs

a trillion attrocities committed

in plain sight under cover of darkness

in the light of your presence

so despicable, repulsive

beyond endurance

i cannot stand

i’d rather die

obliterate me

i am vexed,

destroy me with your crucifixtion

it is in your power,

i may protest and fight

in the end i am nothing

without attachment to the vine

i am yours

if you’ll have me

there is no other choice

no other outcome

strangely so,

beyond my reach

and understanding,

and all of you who hear,

though we’ve been told otherwise

by the enemy of our souls

a leaf fallen to the ground

dried and crumpled

stepped upon and crushed

by the mighty powers that be

yet i see

if it weren’t for you

i would have long ago

been utterly destroyed

my memory serves me well

to see

the manifold dangers and pitfalls

where i stood and teetered on the brink

of insanity,

were it not for you

you keep me close from plunging

into oblivion

and death

only now i see

in this quiet moment

your hand in victory

my life in yours

over darkness

you live in me

beyond the laws of physics

you overcome in and through me,

every day,

each moment

i saw you vaguely this morning

while in quiet contemplation

over you,

i said,

“i can barely see you,”

“here i am,”

you said

i barely heard you

and now,

i hear you say in mercy

and quiet speech,

that only the heart can hear,

“i will never erase you

from my book of life”

A morning breeze knocked and entered, same old, same old.

I decided shutting my eyes again, same old, same old.

Replenished senses, discontented feeling, frustrated perceptions.

My eyes all loose, keeping it shut had ceased.

My body motion etched with scripted progress.

Same old, same old habits telling me,

I don’t even live a life at all.

Same old, same old routines making white noises,

As if it was a natural questioning babel murmuring that —

I had such a futile hollow existence.

All I just do and only took was a strained sigh,

I wonder if breathing is some tool that I still own,

was it a tool?

I suppose, seeking a reply from it,

was similar to taking a branch from a tree.

I was gone from being static —

when I felt the warm forenoon sun drawing on my figure,

through the sheer curtain that veils the window.

steeply evoking and inscribing marks of my own stale nature.

Worn pile of garments and crumpled papers —

scattered around me, as if it took a slumber with me.

I took the towel from the headboard —

shooting for the waters,

I wandered off over these shabby duvets scattered on the ground.

It was a long, lazy shower I wanted —

where I was all bare with my mediocre body and thoughts,

touching everything of it with the rushing waters and my palms.

It was a long, lazy shower I wanted —

that might stroke my mind, caress my soul, and fondle my heart.

but it turned out the contrary.

It was a long, hysteric shower,

I whimpered in desolation,

moaned from a sensual sensation,

then I sobbed, weeping in frustration of knowing —

I attempted to swallow myself in oblivion,

when I’ll never even get a taste of it, only to choke in despair.