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
Gilligan with at Twist
Afternoon, I
My favorite: black cherry margaritas. Thirty students in a cramped high school auditorium, and not a single one of them had voted me their favorite teacher. I’ll show em. How about this, then - a cruise to Mexico, the last of my vacation days receding into the middle distance like the queen’s wave after a long day of engagements.
There’s one woman in particular - oom. Shirley. Enough gust to put wind in these old sails. Haven’t spoken a word to her but have written in loose cursive the many things I’ll do to her. She sulks on the upper deck with a cellular device in her hand, as if that will save us in the middle of the ocean with no connection to mankind except - the anchor! Isn’t there a shtick somewhere about how that’s all it takes to strand a ship?
Morning, II
Well, darn it. Before I opened my eyes I could already feel my dehydration and pouding temples, the black cherry margaritas a thing of 2AM. Now, at 7AM, Shirley is pounding on my door - hold on - Shirley is pounding what? Sure enough, we’ve been shipwrecked! Appartently in my drunken, anti-technological fervor, I severed the rope between the ship and the anchor! Shirley is shouting - something about my saying that iPhones and anchors are both tying us to the dark underside? Me? Oh no, Shirley-not!
The Next Afternoon, III
The island is - wait, pardon my hungover delirium - we landed on an island. An island! This is no Mexico, either. It looks deserted, although for some reason, there does appear to be some debris on the beach, seemingly belonging to others... I’m trying to stick with Shirley for now. She says she saw movement in the bushes, said something about a camera following us? Now I know for certain she is obsessed with technology. Probably just mourning her lost iPhone that fell overboard during the wreck. Or so she says.
So It Goes, IV
Shirley and I discovered - I’m not even hungover anymore, mercy to god - a person! Remember the debris on the beach? It turns out when you steal something that’s not yours, and do it sloppily - Shirley, here’s looking at you - the person it belongs to gets mad! What a thing, to find a TV remote on the beach. Of course Shirely says something about this being odd, technology on a deserted island and all, but of course it’s Shirely, so I assumed she made this up to make me laugh - the she-devil.
But out of nowhere - again, seemingly, this not-Mexico wilderness is enormous - comes this woman. And how shall I say, quite well put together woman. She is wearing yoga pants! And shoes, mine of which fell off. How can this be so? She comes up to us slowly and quietly, and equally slowly, but not equally quietly, she says: GO AWAY.
A Twilight Episode, V
Shirley is just fit to be tied. Probably because we’re tied up. The TV remote? It turns out this well-put together women was filming a private yoga retreat video. Her whole shtick was to be alone on a deserted island while doing yoga for a year. A YEAR. Doing yoga! How can anything be so boring, and yet so beautifully proportioned, with a perfect backsi-I mean, movement of the glutes?
The Shtick, VI
There are - I kid you not - six camera men here. SIX. They are all here to film - her name is Melody, appartently - her yoga. Her alone yoga. A group of seven castaways who both promote harmony with nature while leaving technology scattered on the beach, to be found by sea turtles and the innocent, all to gain potentail YouTube viewers, in the vein of having some self-awareness and integrity. The irony! Tied up and I can’t even move my glutes. Or my will to leave - Melody is giving me the high eyebrows, which I take to mean I’m attractive, although she also seems scared of my stench. She is clearly in love - and lo! So am I.
The Murder, VII
One of the camera men is named Billy. He engineered, apparently, leaving the TV remote on the beach! He knew we were on the island and wanted to trap us. Ha! If only I hadn’t fallen for dim-witted, hapless Shirley, who unforunately is the one who is NOT being chosen to fight tonight. Fight? Yes, I have been chosen to fight to the death over some kind of pride - some kind of balance in Melody’s chakra has been thrown off upon our arrival to the island, and one of us must be sacrificed to the yoga gods that be, of course. It wouldn’t be a yoga retreat without some cleansing, I suppose.
Billy is also, apparently, spiritually in line with Melody’s chakra, and must fight me to the death for expressing interest in her. So it goes.
Billy, VIII
Our epic battle turns out to be a yoga war, so we must do ten yoga poses correctly to “win” Melody’s favor and stay on the island. This is all being filmed, by the way. Billy throws down his best child’s pose while I struggle to remain stoic for the cameras, bending in all the wrong directions, but not bending my will to win!
Shirley, IX
Shirley, apparently, knew everything from the beginning, and led me to the island and to Melody. Something about a potential promotion if Shirley could convince me, har har, jokes on the loser who can’t do downward facing dog! She said she wanted to be tied up for the fun of it - oh, women these days!
Rising Signs and Tides, X
But I wouldn’t go down without a fight, of course. The tenth, and my winning, pose, was Warrior I, in which I became the first warrior to ever win Melody’s favor and stay on the island! Alive! Ha! Billy, unfortunately, had to be cast away to sea, because Melody’s rising sign, apparently, no longer meshed with Billy’s zodiac something or something.
And that, ladies and gentleman, is the end of that. Shirley, after all that, also had to be cast away to sea - her rising sign was the rising tides. Alas, we don’t have to end on that note! I found that my chakras are now aligned, thanks to Melody, my adoring TV audience, and the occassional - somehow finding their way to a deserted island - black cherry margarita. Technology is funny that way.
Episode Title: Showdown in the Sand
This is not how things were supposed to happen.I was supposed to have been back so long ago to my dreary, rainy, seasonally depressing Seattle life by now. I should be three lattes deep, sloshing down the streets and wondering how places like Hawaii even existed. I should be looking for love and acceptance in places I more naturally belonged in. I should be layered up and bundled, keeping out the bone chilling wind coming from the sound. In every possible way, I shouldn’t be here.
Yet, here I was.
I was standing at the edge of the ocean I knew so well, but this time in a very unfamiliar fashion. I sank deeper into the sand from the weight of this decision I had to make. I hoped the tide would pull away the overbearing hatred living on this beach. Instead, it lapped at my bare feet and reminded me how my place here had to be solidified. We were way past the temporary nature of this island stay and long term conflict resolution was required.
I hope she will understand and forgive me.
They were all gathered on the shore behind me. I could feel the heat of their stares into my back. It couldn’t be confused for the sun, as it was glaring off the water and causing my eyes to uncontrollably squint my eyes. I’m glad the sun wouldn’t be in my face when I would face him. Perhaps I'd be so lucky as it's ray would unexplainably amplify and blind him, taking away the responsibility of taking him down off of me.
I turned around and began tromping through the sand. Even though we’d been here a long time already, there is still no way to gracefully walk vengefully in sand.
We locked eyes.
He brushed his dark hair off his sweaty forehead and tipped his white hat forward. He took one lanky step forward to separate himself from the others. He wasn’t so bumbly and loveable now. He rolled up his sleeves of his tattered red polo. He was just some schtick sidekick but he didn’t look like a joke. I was half expecting the caricature version of him in this moment but the gravity of the moment had injected him with real masculinity. The Skipper always said he didn’t have any muscles but he was flexing what he had to resemble them for intimidation.
“This is my island, hence the name”.
"It's a joke, just as you are."
Just as he was sliding out of character for him, I was morphing into someone I didn't recognize. I blame this damned island for this and so much more.
"You all have made it very clear that you don't want me here, and I have made it very clear that the only reason I have put up with your array of shit is because of her, but I am now past the point of what I'm willing to put up with".
I withdrew the makeshift weapon from my pocket. The coarse fibers of the coconut cordage poked into my hand as I gripped the handle. The fishbone tip I'd spent so much time sharpened on rocks gleamed a bright white and looked strong in its bamboo casing. This island was a prison, and this was essentially a prison shank. I intended to shank him and leave him bleeding in the sand.
Everyone seemed surprised, which was odd. What did they think I was doing all this time in my solitary confinement? I sure as hell wasn't crafting trinkets or gifts for them.
He lunged at me, thinking that I would be caught off guard by his pounce. I wasn't though. I was seconds away from making the first move anyway. With all the strength I could muster, fueled by love and blind rage, I grabbed one shoulder, plunged my shank in between his ribs, and pulled him to the ground. As he hit sand, his body flopped and all his bravado bounced out of him. Just as a I had thought; he was weak. He used his mob mentality to garner super human strength but when it was just him, he as just a man.
He rolled over and gasped. Much to my dismay, the point of the weapon did not dig deep enough to mortally wound him. He was injured, sure, but not clinging to life.
I stood over him and then started back at the group."Things are going to change around here," my chest heaved as I spoke. "Ginger, I didn't want to do this, but I hope you know I had to."
She batted her big eyes at me and pushed her flowing hair from her face. She didn't say anything. None of them did. Gilligan got up and slumped off to tend to his wounds. "I've said it once and I'll say it again. I'd make a terrible vampire. I faint at the sight of blood". He passed right out and some of the others ran to his aid.
I turned to return to the ocean's edge. As I approached the water, Ginger came running up behind me and whispered in my ear. "I suppose you want a kiss now?"
"I know Gilligan said no and insulted you, but saying no to you was the worst mistake of his life. Even worse than getting us all stuck here forever."
She slipped her hands around my waist and we stood there, staring into the infinite horizon between us and the life that never would have put us in each other's path.
Lovey’s Secret Rival, part one
....singles karaoke...open bar....three-hour cruise…alarms...panic....life preserver...water….screams….
I come to on a beach. I am surrounded by a group of people. They are discussing what to do with me.
‘Given the rate at which we consume coconuts, an additional mouth would deplete our supply within a month.’
‘I wouldn’t feel safe with another man on the island. Especially such a grody one.’
‘I agree with Mary Ann. He looks like proper trash. Pure rubbish.’
This one, the older man, catches my attention. I’ve always been a sucker for an older man. And this one, refined, speaking with a Locust Valley lockjaw cadence, looking fabulous amongst a group who’ve obviously been stranded for some time.
‘Now hold on everyone.’ This is another older man, speaking like a leader, with his blue shirt still struggling to conceal his belly. Perhaps if he shared a few of his coconuts there wouldn’t be such a shortage. He goes on, ‘We’ve discussed the possibility of another castaway and developed our contingency.’
All their eyes shift from me to the scrawny, big-nosed fellow in the red shirt and dopey hat. He gulps like a bad actor.
The apparent leader continues, ‘A new castaway may stay if he can defeat Gilligan in a battle...to the death.’
The old bag hanging off my man says, ‘Ohhh, but he’s just got here. Shouldn’t we at least give him a meal and bath first?’
The group agrees and I’m escorted to a rudimentary shack made from bamboo and palm leaves. A very attractive redhead I’m sure I’ve seen somewhere brings me a pail of water, a rag made from a terrycloth shirt, and a bowl of coconut curry.
She says to me, ‘Oh, I hate that you have to fight. Good luck, darling.’
Before she leaves I ask, ‘Is that handsome ascot-wearing fellow a...you know, a friend of Dorothy?’
The redhead doesn’t understand. I don’t know how long they’ve been here. ‘Dorothy who?’
‘Nevermind.’
I eat, clean myself up, and look around the shack. There are several gadgets: the steering wheel of a boat made into a roulette wheel, a hot-air ballon basket, something that resembles a sewing machine. I’m beginning to think that life on this island isn’t too bad and, perhaps, episodically entertaining.
The smart one arrives and tells me it’s time. He leads me to a ring of torches on a different beach than the one I washed up on. The leader speaks to me. ‘Stranger. As per the rules of the island, no man may stay on the island unless he can defeat Gilligan in a battle to the death.’ The lanky, red shirted guy is apparently Gilligan and he stands across from me, his legs more wobbly than a Thanksgiving Jell-O salad. We are each give a bamboo spear and a buckler made from coconut husks.
The rest of the island’s inhabitants gather together on one side of the circle. I give the sugardaddy a wink and we smiles coyly before his eyes check to make sure the old hag isn’t looking. I feel good about my chances.
‘On my mark,’ says the leader, ‘Three, two, one…’
To be continued.
Sugar and Spice
Waking up on an island as always been a dream of mine. I always imagined that I would either be alone or with a few close friends. I quickly realize that this is not the island of my dreams. I am not welcomed with alohas or a lei, I have awakened to angry scowls standing over me. The sun is blinding. My head is pounding. What the hell happened?
And then I see her, perched on a bar stool sucking down a drink, her gorgeous red hair blowing in the breeze. Ginger. I jump up and scare the crowd back. I have to see if it’s really her, maybe she is a mirage. My palms are sweaty. Hell, my whole body is sweaty, it feels as if it is 120 degrees here, maybe I died and landed in hell. I’m not sure where I am or how I got here, but I have to know if it’s her. As I begin walking toward her, she puts her shades from her head over her eyes. I must be a sight for sore eyes and she’s going to have sore thighs if I have the pleasure of her passion again. “Ginger?” I quietly ask.
I’m positive it’s her. I glance around for the Single Mingling Cruise Ship, it’s nowhere to be found. That ship has sailed, I think, what a bad dad joke. Ginger left the ship the morning after our night together. I stayed on the ship. So how am I on the very island that Ginger left the ship for days ago? Has it been days? My head is still groggy. “Shhh, we cannot act like we know each other. You already ran over here like my lost puppy.” She tells me to follow her into a private room. I follow her like the good puppy that I am.
“I’ve been held hostage on this island for a long time. The prettiest people on this island are the captives. The uglies on this island are trying to create a beautiful group of people. They are studying breeding the pretty people. Every now and then, I sneak off of the island, but I cannot be gone long because they have chips inserted into us.” It’s a crazy story, and I’m selfishly thinking if I can get her in my bed again. The crazy ones normally do make the best lovers. It feels good to know that she wasn’t running AWAY from me; she was running BACK to her captures.
“How did I end up here?” I ask.
She shakes her head and shrugs, “I don’t know, but I’m going to say that it’s fate. Please help me escape these people.” I cannot help but think of Princess Peach. When we leave the privacy of the room, she whispers, “There’s the leader.” A large man with a dirty beard is eyeing us suspiciously.
I boldly walk up to the man and introduce myself, “Hello. They call me The Professor, and I’m going to take Ginger to the other side of the island.” I make this request with the hope that there is another side to this island. I haven't had any sightseeing oppotunties, needless to say. I hope these wackos do not cover the whole island.
He spits on the ground next to me, “You don’t suppose? You can leave my colony with her under one condition, you win a fight to the death with one of my workers.”
I agree. It’s my only chance. The uglies are probably going to kill me anyway.
“The fight begins in two hours,” he says as he storms away.
As I enter the ring to fight, I realize that I do not have a weapon or a shield. I have my trusty karate skills that haven’t been dusted off in years, and that’s it. Karate is like riding a bike, I hope. I’m fighting for my life and my love; I may not need a weapon or a shield. I image Ginger’s eyes from our one night of passion. Channeling my inner psycho, I let out a growl.
My competitor doesn’t look so tough when he enters the ring, and then he’s provided with a sword and a shield. This is not going to be a fair fight. The uglies chant and cheer us on, or I should say cheer him on. I see Ginger in the crowd, sitting with her hands folded in prayer.
He instantly charges me. He’s close enough that I can see his angry slobber trickling down. He doesn’t look human. I wonder if the uglies are also breeding warriors. I was able to dodge one swipe of his sword. I’m not so lucky with the second swipe, it slices a large gash in my thigh. My blood begins dripping like his angry drool.
Ok, karate, time to shine. He’s not ready for me. A few kicks to the face and he is dazed. I kick his sword from his hand, I hear the clang on the ground, even over the angry booing. A few more hits and he drops with a loud thud. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Karate makes me feel alive and I celebrate a little inside. I’m going to survive! I grab his sword. I see him in my peripheral, struggling to get up. I’m on him like a lion on raw meat. I stomp on his neck, holding him in place, and with both hands on the sword, I drive it deep into his heart. His blood begins showering the ring like an indoor sprinkler putting out a fire. I do a victory howl. I find Ginger again; she’s standing now with wide eyes. The crowd is pissed, I wonder how we are going to make it out of here alive.
Damn, my leg hurts. The adrenaline is dwindling down, allowing the pain in. I get to Ginger as fast as I can with a hobble. I link my arm in hers, she’s now holding this warrior up. “Come on, love, let’s get out of this hellhole.” She smiles, making it all worth it.
Got it Covid...
When disaster threatens ill b bettin...
Christ!
he will b
protecting,
re-elect him
injecting faith like mase,
on Ya beans n rice.
This is life...
one big struggle
such is it,
get with it
the harvest!
I’ll try my hardest ill play my aces at high stakes, bet all my money on a dog in a
horse race,
a man in so many different states
in so many different places,
helping different races even though this salt
has lost its savour
still, love thy neighbour.
Whatever your sex
creed or religion
ill be giving
from the heart.
Be a candle
spark up and start
be mindful and alert
the night
only gives you
more light,
I’ve struggled in the darkness
I know what it’s all about
I know the way out.
Don’t fight it...
Let it play out
walk the line
start the shine,
realine the climb transient time.
Tuna and rice with brine
I’m mine!
I’m lost,
Gods got me...
he paid at
oh,
such a cost;
so whatever will b will b
so let’s see.
But I beg you,
believe.
Christ is king!
and we all in for the
culling..
be cunning...
Wise as the serpent
gentle as the dove breath in
count 1. 2. 3.
David in his own lions den,
or the furnace
he was in there
with the three of them.
Christ is coming!
and knowone knows when
It’s not about joining a church
It’s just about quenching my thirst.
Wipe the dust off ya Bible otherwise you may
b liable to
sin...
you don’t wanna go
to that bin, drowning
in gin
suffer no more,
stand and take score
stand and BC
open the door to the temple
it’s simple...
usher in that high priest!
Say
”save me Yeshua”
yes you are!
at least,
your invited to the weeding feast.
Escape the beast.....
Tittle- Got it Covid.
Author - Yakes
I believe my poem is a good fit due to the fact that everyone needs saving in this world from this world and hope for a better one.
I am 34-year-old man living in Sydney Australia I am not a very good reader and have not done many studies or even much school for that matter.
I’ve lived a lifetime of drug abuse after my father hung himself when I was 9yo
I have siblings and a stepfather that was abusive suffering from mental illness, I too suffer mental illness and receive an injection every three months. I’ve been in and out of locked hospital wards and have done some weeks on remand in Silverwater prison.
Personality: introverted extrovert I'm sensitive I wear my heart on my sleeve heads usually in the clouds with one foot on the ground I love my family my pets and friends I'm a people person and like to meet new people in the street or on a train or bus I believe everyone's worth a while.
Good Morning?
“Well shi-” I suppose now is not the time for swearing, it’s the time for action! But what action does one take when they wake up half-naked with 7 people standing over them practically salivating? One groans when I open my eyes and shakes his head in disappointment.
I do believe they intend to eat me! They haven’t even taken me to dinner yet!
“Good morning?” They all glared, still standing over me with their pointy sticks and ripped clothing, but they all take one step back to my immense relief. That was not the proper action to be taken apparently.
“You said she was dead!” The man with a navy polo pokes another man wearing a surprisingly clean white shirt with his elbow as he speaks.
“Well, I apologize for being wrong this one time, Skipper!”
“You’re a professor! You’re supposed to know when someone is dead, Roy!” Skipper says his name as if it’s a taunt.
“I am a high school professor and a botanist, Skipper. And it’s Professor to you,” Skipper’s eyes blaze as Roy speaks.
“Boys, calm down! Fighting will not solve anything, we should just kill her anyway.“A pretty red-headed woman pops in, seemingly out of nowhere. Where I was before laying down enjoying the show, I pop up and speak.
“Ah you see, let’s not. I have a terrible diet, all sugar! Makes my meat rather gamy!” I ramble off all the terrible things I have eaten while they all still watch me closely.
“Well, that settles it, right? We’re not going to eat her? Caramel candy never tastes good eaten twice...” A scrawny man from my left speaks and I nod along with him, muttering a yes and smiling.
“But I’m hungry Gilligan!” The red-head speaks again, I want to strangle her.
“But we couldn’t possibly hurt a woman!” The scrawny man apparently named Gilligan pipes up again.
“Now Little Buddy, you don’t know what you’re talking about! There is no such thing as a woman on a shipwrecked island!”
“Now I never!” Both the redhead and a brunette woman I hadn’t noticed before gasp in horror.
“I am very much a woman!”
“Now Ginger he didn’t mean it that way!” Roy, the Professor pipes in. So her name is Ginger, noted.
How did I go from tapping glasses with an insanely attractive man named Javier to watching a bunch of adults argue about eating me?
“Ginger! She’s a fellow woman! How could we just casually eat her?” The brunette speaks and puts a hand on Ginger’s shoulder.
No one is watching me so I start creeping back, shifting a bit at a time, cursing my inactivity in PE during the crab walk exercises.
“Mary-Ann! We haven’t eaten anything in days! And we won’t casually eat her, we will devour her!” Ginger snaps back. My eyes go wide and my crab with a broken leg walk is a little faster than before.
There is something like a leaf beneath my hand, but it’s wiggling. I turn to look and smack eyes with a spider the size of Ginger’s hair.
With a yelp and a shimmy, I’m up and running into the jungle.
“She’s getting away” The Professor speaks.
“Food!” Ginger.
“Is that a spider?” followed by a girlish scream that must have come from-- Gilligan! Then a series of curses and the exclamation of “Gilligan!” tells me I’m off the hook so I take off like a migrating goose!
Despite the fear coursing through my veins I can’t help fantasizing The Professor’s knowledgable eyes are watching me run to safety. Goodness, just his eyes could make any girl swoon, Carolina would flip out for me and start planning the wedding, even on this wretched island!
So when none other than the devil himself (not Satan, but in fact The Professor) i instantly spring to attention.
“We must strike an accord!” He puffs out his chest and says the words with determination.
“Yes! Over there, alone, in the dark...” I trail off as a confused look crosses his face, I must have misread the situation, “e-excuse me. Yes of course, what are-what are your terms.” I hope he says something like ‘make sweet music like the crickets’, or, ‘lie together in a bed of leaves, amorously exchanging’, or even, ‘lie down and watch the stars in each other’s arms.’
But alas he does not. Instead, he says something along the lines of fighting Ginger. I was too busy wallowing in my own self-pity to hear the specifics.
“Ugh, whatever.” I snap and cross my arms with a huff.
“So, you accept the challenge?” To us throwing ourselves to the ground and having a grand ole’ time? Oh, course! Why the hell not?
But now that sharpened sticks are being brought forward, I’m slightly uncertain, I was unaware this was to the death. Ginger is circling the ring of leaves called “The Arena” like a caged bull, a very peeved off caged bull, no, a very peeved off caged Minotaur!
Goodness, how do I end up in situations such as these? Actually, the better question will be how I will get myself out of this situation!
Find out next Monday at 7:30 on another episode of “Gilligan’s Island”(CC)!