Okay, you people pulled my leg.
Here ya go!
Gilligan had been on 'strike' for a full four days now. And, no matter how much pestering they did to him, the castaways couldn't get him to do one single chore aside from one: collect firewood.
But after breakfast.
And sure, he did some of the personal favors, like get his clothes from the laundry bin so Mary Ann could cook, and play caddy for the Howells—stuff like that. But that was it. No more of the same schedule, no more yelling at him to do pointless things, no more blaming him for everything wrong or boring in their lives.
The day before though, Skipper had been furious with Gilligan's strike. He had mostly been furious that the man hadn't responded to any of his threats or yelling, as Gilligan usually did. He had almost torn the boy's arm off trying to drag him out of that cave and back to camp (which, unfortunately for Gilligan, had been successful). Though it caused him to choose a different cave and hide there for a full two days time before casually coming out of the forest, only to plop down in his usual seat at the breakfast table, to the shock of everyone else (who had not seen him for two days!).
But they had learned quickly he wouldn't do any of the normal actions only a Gilligan would do, and he would not be persuaded. Even the professor's reverse-psychology did not work on the boy, who took it as a sign that he was doing quite well.
Ginger had tried to coax him into helping her make breakfast with Mary Anne and Skipper.
Gilligan had refused the offer, as he did with most anything that involved the grudge-holding old sailor.
And now, today, he was playing with Rosie and her family. That is to say, Rosie the hummingbird and her family.
Gilligan sighed, plopping down on the ground and setting his head in his hand. "Rosie?"
The hummingbird circled around his head.
"I think I'm depressed."
She landed in front of the man, cocking her head a little.
"I mean, we've made this schedule, and we've had it for a coupla' years now."
She flew back up into the air, hovering in front of him.
"Just a few days ago, I made everybody really mad by breaking it."
A few other hummingbirds started flying around his body in a circle.
"Oh, hey Arnold, Lizzy, Charles, and Sammy." Just for the record, Sammy was a girl. He figured that out after watching her lay the triplets. "Maybe you could help me too."
They all proceeded to land on him.
"I just don't know what to do anymore! It's really confusing, and that's why I'm asking you guys for help."
Rosie, Sammy, and Lizzy all chirped.
He grimaced, "And gals. I broke their schedule by stopping my "daily chores." Skipper got real mad too, you should've seen the shade of red his face was! I never even knew that color existed!" He giggled, then went back to being serious. "We haven't had anyone come to the island in years. It seems like forever since we spoke to anyone else! Maybe even forever and three days! Huh. Hey, maybe that would do something to break us outta that schedule! Somebody else who agrees with me! But I don't want everybody to hate me for this—but I really don't want everything to go back to normal!"
Charles pecked his head.
"Ow! Hey, whaddya do that for?"
The rest of them started pecking his head, making Gilligan jump up and start running into the forest.
"Ow! Quit it! Hey, I said stop!"
He was practically herded into a nearby cave, where the hummingbirds left him in peace. He dusted off his hat, humphing. "As Mrs. Howell would say: Well! I'd never! Whatever that means." He shrugged, looking around. There was a small light at the end of the cave, very faint, but there. And what smelled like . . .
"BACON!" He started running as fast as he could push his legs, shocked he could still remember what bacon even smelled like.
Soon, he could see where the light was coming from—a hole in the ground. That meant the cave went downwards, beneath the island, if he dared go any farther.
On the other hand, there was a big log, and a plateful of food sitting right on it.
Gilligan halted in his tracks, mouth agape, staring at the single plate. He approached the table, making indescribable voices with his mouth. "Ah-ha-ha-a-a-a-a-ah! FOOD!"
Despite the tiny voice in his head telling him it wasn't his to eat, Gilligan dove right into that food, not a worry or care where it came from.
With the treat of bacon, eggs, and sausage safely in his system, he sat back, the happiest he could be and had been in many long years.
Gilligan looked around—there was a black duffel bag behind the log. He didn't touch it; he already ate their food!
"Speaking of which . . ." There was another plate behind that log—It had a fully cooked chicken on it, wrapped in plastic! "Gosh! I need to tell everybod—ooh."
With how much food there really was, Gilligan wanted to make this one last. And besides—who was this person? Was he or she another crazy person? A killer? Or sombody as nice as Mary Ann? Or may be even . . . somebody twice as nice as Mary Ann! If that even existed in a person.
"I'll wait here for you, Whoever-You-Are!" He plopped down next to the duffel bag, away from the opening of the hole above him and in the shadows.
Rosie happened to fly down at that moment, landing on his leg.
He grinned. "Thank you, Rosie! I wouldn't have swatted you guys away if I had known this was what you were leading me to—sorry!"
With a small chirp, she flew back out.
Okay . . . I guess I have no choice but to continue it now. XP Please review and tell me whatcha' think! :)
