|A Three Hour Tour
Author: Sideshow Cellophane 26 PM
Just a normal three hour tour with Gilligan and Skipper. Five passengers. A little storm. What could possibly go wrong? Basically: how everybody met, what it was like during the storm, and their shipwreck.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor/Friendship - Gilligan - Chapters: 3 - Words: 3,889 - Reviews: 11 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 09-23-12 - Published: 09-03-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8494826
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Mary Ann kept her feet firmly against the ground, trying to steer clear of knocking into Gilligan's wounds. She and Ginger were wrapping the bandages around Gilligan's bare back at the Professor's instruction. Mary Ann couldn't help from blushing when he took off his shirt when the Professor told him to—he was already cute, but seeing him shirtless made her blush.
She hadn't seen a shirtless boy since a week before she left Kansas, when her family and Cindy went to the lake and saw those college kids—not much older than herself—begin to strip off their shirts. Mary Ann remembered giggling, but blushing, when Cindy pointed out a particular boy out that looked just like Brad Pitt. And then Mary Ann turned right around and told Cindy her perfect match was right over there—a washed-up jellyfish that had been on the beach all day.
Though Gilligan was certainly no Brad Pitt, he was sweet.
"Mary Ann, you're hurting me!" Gilligan wheezed.
"What? Oh!" She had squeezed together his bandages as far as they'd stretch on Gilligan's rib cage. With the help of Ginger, they unwrapped it and began re-wrapping. "I'm sorry, Gilligan. My mind was somewhere else."
"That's alright. Can ya hurry up girls? I need to help the Skipper man the mast, batten down the hatten, and wheel the hatches. Er, that's not right. Man the wheel, batten down the hatches, and—something else that didn't make sense . . ."
"It's fine sweetie," Ginger said, "try not to talk too much. We're almost done. Right Professor?"
He smiled. "Almost there. Just continue wrapping as you are, girls."
"Thanks girls! I promise you all, everything'll be alright." Gilligan ran back out into the rain.
Mary Ann sighed and sat back down. Ginger did the same; so did the professor. The Howells had claimed that they "would stay up from ship-lag all week."
Mrs. Howell was asleep now, using her husband as a pillow. Mr. Howell was snoring quite loudly (even in comparison to the storm), using his suitcases and teddy as pillows, muttering, "How dare they overcharge me . . . mmmm . . . Lovey! Fend them off while I get in the vault . . ! Good thing I ran away, he would-would've bruised my ear drums . . ."
Ginger looked over at them with curiosity. "That's a vivid dream Mr. Howell's having. Should we wake him?"
"I wouldn't if I were you," The Professor said, "they bruised my eardrums from all of that storm fuss. Let them sleep, they'll need it."
"Can't you do something about the snoring?"
"Besides plugging the mouth with a cork? No . . . there isn't one big enough on this boat to cover that hole."
Mary Ann laughed at that, but kept silent. Her mind wouldn't stay away from Gilligan, and she didn't know why.
"Skipper! You were wrong! You were wrong!" Gilligan tried to yell over the raging wind, only to have a wave crash on the deck, splashing into his mouth. "Ugh! Blech!" He spit it out, opening his mouth to the fresh rain coming down and running towards the Skipper.
"Shut up Gilligan! Check on the passengers!"
"I said to—" He was interrupted by a flash of lightening, which made Gilligan jump onto the Skipper's back. They struggled about for a little bit, until he threw Gilligan off his back.
"Skipper, I need to check on everybody!"
"That's what I just said!"
"Then why won't you lemme go?"
"BECAUSE YOU'RE STILL HERE!"
Gilligan gasped and ran right into the mast. He turned around with a silly grin, and fell, passed out, on the deck. The Skipper groaned, leaning down to pick up Gilligan. The mast swung around, hitting him in the head.
Skipper was out cold.
Mary Ann frowned. "Did you hear something?"
Ginger was doing her make-up, Professor was looking out the window. He looked at her and answered, "No. It may have been a barrell falling on deck." He turned back to the window. "It worries me that I can't see our captains. Do you think something's wrong?" He turned back around.
Ginger answered without looking up, "Probably not. They're experienced, they know what they're doing."
"True, but Gilligan's wounded. And I don't see either one of them from where I am, which is the crossing point between starboard and port meaning they're still near the mast and not the wheel, and the mast isn't directed for the wind to take us back home, meaning we're drifting away from the Islands and not near-"
"Professor, can you possibly slow down and take a breath?"
"Of course. Gilligan and the Skipper haven't crossed this passage to and from the mast and wheel. The mast isn't in the direction it should be to take us home. The wheel is right above us, and I didn't hear anybody go up there. And if they did, they'd cross this passage."
"So I haven't seen them in over a half hour. They're still near the mast."
"So we're drifting?!"
"At an angle. We probably shouldn't be too worried, they'll realize this and fix it."
"I hope so . . ."
Mary Ann sighed. This was an adventure she could have gone her entire life without. "When we get off this ship, I'm going to ask for my money back."
"As will I."
"My agent will take care of mine." Ginger put her make-up back in her purse.
The Howells continued snoring.
Gilligan woke up, his surroundings a blur. A voice kept calling to him, "Gilligan! GILLIGAN!"
He gasped and sat up. "Oh my gosh! Man over board!" He leapt off the side of the ship, calling, "I'll save you Skip-" He landed face-first into sand. "-er."
Skipper sighed and helped him up. "Gilligan, the Minnow's been beached!"
And that's our story. So this is the tale of the castaways,
They're here for a long, long time,
They'll have to make the best of things,
It's an uphill climb.
The first mate and the Skipper too,
Will do their very best,
To make the others comfortable,
In the tropic island nest.
No phone, no lights no motor cars,
Not a single luxury,
Like Robinson Crusoe,
As primative as can be.
So join us here each week my friends,
You're sure to get a smile,
From seven stranded castaways,
Here on Gilligan's Isle!