Disclaimer: I don't own any of the castaways from Gilligan's Island sadly. They belong to someone else, not I. I hope you enjoy this different approach, at least for me, to a short and sort of bittersweet fanfiction story. Please Read and Review!!!! Enjoy
Quietly, the Professor, a makeshift stethoscope draped around his neck ominously, exited the hut, closing the door behind him. Silently, he nodded at a solemn Mr. Howell.
"Go ahead in Mr. Howell," he directed softly.
As Mr. Howell disappeared inside of the hut, all was silent outside apart from for the soft weeping sound of anguished tears.
MaryAnn was clinging desperately to an uncharacteristically grave Gilligan, attempting fruitlessly to stifle her crying. Likewise, Ginger sought the Professor's shoulder to smoother her tears. And the Skipper stood erected like a figure of sorrow; not crying, but very close to tears.
Inside the hut, Mr. Howell made his way over to his wife, noiselessly sitting on the edge of the bed in which she was occupying.
"Hello Thurston," she whispered gently.
"Lovey," he answered in almost a plea, trembling violently as he took his wife's delicate hand. "Don't go Lovey."
"It's my time Thurston dear," she replied.
"But Lovey, you're a Howell!"
"I'm afraid not even a Howell can escape the inevitable," Lovey mused with a weak smile. "Oh Thurston, you'll tell the others I love them all dearly won't you?"
"Yes, yes, of course my pet. Anything at all."
"Thurston… I love you," she murmured.
"Lovey, I, I love you too… so much. I love you more than even money, I realize," Thurston attested firmly.
They sat in silence for a time for which the length they could not be sure. Had it been minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years? In truth, only a few precious seconds had passed where they felt all the many years of wedded bliss fold out before them.
Smiling, as if in a daze, Lovey remarked, "I wonder… what does one where to one's own funeral?"
Her eyelids closed, but her chest continued to rise and fall slowly.
Carefully, Thurston leaned over and pressed his lips against hers. Kissing her until he no longer heard her breathing…
Slowly, he lifted his head to gaze upon his wife's now motionless figure. He held her limp, yet still beautiful hands as the warmth they held gradually vanished.
A tear escaped him and traveled down his face, landing on the cheek of Lovey's. To try holding back the tears would be pointless, stupid, and selfish; he had to face the pain, the horrifying reality.
The fervent tears that suddenly escaped him were dull, painful acceptance, regretted and heartsick acceptance that his darling wife, whom no one could replace, his lovely Lovey… had left this mortal world… forever…