- Story by Austin Siegemund-Broka, Grade 9

Gregor lived on an island.

At least, most of the time he did. Usually, he had the whole paradise to himself, a luscious, green patch of land with abundant animals and fruits. But every once in a while, the beautiful surroundings would melt away and Gregor would be left looking at a drab, white door. He would be in a small room of white tile, with only a simple wooden chair, upon which Gregor sat. There was a small bare lightbulb on the ceiling and gray-brown stains around some of the tiles.

But that was very rare. Mostly it was just Gregor on his island. It wasn't a large place, small enough for Gregor to know exactly where he was all the time. There was crystal blue surf, as warm as a Jacuzzi tub, and powdery white sand. The plants were always full and green, but not only green. There were huge flowers and vines, some purple, some orange, some pink. They gave the island a splash of brightness.

Gregor thought about this blessing bestowed on him. This is my favorite place, he thought. My favorite place ever.

As wonderful as his paradise was, though, strange things had begun to happen on Gregor's island. He felt it was no longer his, like there was a presence watching over it. Mostly, there were voices. Sometimes, just out of the baby-blue sky, voices would come. There was often a male voice, and sometimes a female one, too. These invisible speakers weren't loud, but they weren't incomprehensible either.

What they said, however, worried Gregor more. He often caught the entire conversation, and remembered specific lines of dialogue. "He has a form of schizophrenia," the male voice had said once. Gregor didn't know the word, but it sounded bad. There was a long pause before the female chimed in.

"Schizophrenia? I'm afraid I don't understand, doctor."

"I believe it to be a very acute form of the disorder. He imagines he's somewhere else completely."

This had come as a shock to Gregor. A disorder? What did they mean, these people? And where else could I be? I'm on my island. MY island. I can see things. I can hear things. I can touch things.

"It's funny," the man said. "There's absolutely no history of mental illness in his family. I think he's one apple that fell way off the tree," Gregor realized with a cold dread that he was the "he".


The statement hit Gregor hard. Why me? What's wrong with me? I'm just here in my favorite place all the time. Why is that such an imposition?

When they came again, their banter worried Gregor even more. "I think we might have a breakthrough on the serum," the male had said optimistically. But what was a serum? Before Gregor could remember, the female was talking.

"Oh, really? So, can tests begin, or perhaps even a treatment?"

The male became a little more cautious. "I'm not sure if we can treat him now, but sometime soon perhaps."

But I don't need a treatment, Gregor found himself pleading with the memory of the voices. Do I?

At that moment, the surroundings melted away again. Gregor was in the small room of tile, tile that hadn't been washed in a while. What Gregor noticed first, however, was the door-white and unremarkable, the door itself was not what attracted Gregor's quick gaze. It was shutting, Gregor noticed immediately. It had been open just a crack, and it slowly slid back into place with a thud and a click.

Gregor saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He shifted around in his wooden chair. His muscles were incredibly weak, but he couldn't grasp why.

Gregor quickly picked out the source of the movement. It was a small vial, just a little glass tube that had fallen out of a doctor's pocket on a past visit. What do they do here? Gregor began to wonder. I'm in a small, nasty room with nothing but a vial and people talking about a treatment for me.

Suddenly Gregor panicked. First, he wanted to escape; but then he wanted more than out. He wanted badly to make something break, to destroy something important, even to hurt someone, just to know where he was. With a great amount of effort, he lifted his foot up. He was clothed and shod, and with the shoe he had lifted up, he dropped his leg and pulverized the vial. It shattered immediately, glass flying all over the floor.

And then it was the island again, and Gregor immediately felt better. He took a tour around his favorite place, just to make sure it was there. A few hours later he ate, and then swam.

Later, the voices came again. They were excited, talking about a cure, a serum. Gregor became at first worried, then resentful. "An apple way off the tree," he had said. Well I'm here, in my favorite place, all the time, and they're not. This is something they'll never have.

But then something unexpected happened. Gregor felt pressure on his shoulders and legs, like something was lifting him. He panicked. He thrashed around and flailed, but the sensation stayed. It remained for a whole minute or so.

Gregor felt something soft on his back, like he was lying down. Then the sun started to swell. And at last a revelation came to Gregor. These things don't really happen, he thought. Voices, and the sensation, and the sun. When I was young, they didn't happen. And now I'm here, and they are here. So... He thought for a long time, ignoring the intense feeling on his back. ...so is this real?

The sun covered most of the sky. The surroundings shifted, but not to the tiled room again. The sky turned to whitewashed concrete. The sun was a large, bright light directly above Gregor. He was lying down, on a bed.

People looked down on him, people with powder-blue coats and gloves and masks. There were things in the room, big machines for which he had no name.

And one man was holding a needle.

Gregor had a strange sort of epiphany right then. The needle was meant for him, like the vial might have been. He needed out. He tried to flail, but he found he was strapped down. His muscles wouldn't have moved anyway, he realized. On my island... have I really been moving at all? Or do I just think I am?

It was the island, again, for a brief second, and then back to the bed. His mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out. Then the needle. the pain was intense, and...

Gregor was back on the island. But something was not right. Not everything was in place. There was the beach and the trees with the fruit, but it just stopped. At the corner of his vision, there was nothing. Just emptiness. And to his horror, Gregor found he couldn't remember what went there.

And then the emptiness opened up before him. He could no longer even feel the sand beneath him. Gregor realized the struggle was hopeless. Suddenly Gregor was in the bed again. The blue-coats were looking down on him.

Gregor felt a calm dread. My island is gone, Gregor realized. My favorite place. My only place. But there was another feeling as well. Gregor also perceived that, for the first time since he was young, he actually saw where he was. The island was just in his mind.

He was suddenly horribly embarrassed. How long had I been in that tiled room? How long had they spoon fed me? How long had I been on the island?

"One apple that fell way off the tree," the man had said.

Gregor at last realized the horrible truth in what the doctor had said. I can build a real life now, cheered the new Gregor. And at a tall price, realized the old Gregor. The Island was gone.

Time passed. Gregor was put in a much more comfortable room with a bed and pictures and a window. The window looked out at the city, but a billboard covered most of Gregor's view.

He was given a month to collect himself and deal with the island's destruction. And during this time, the billboard changed. Sometimes it showed a movie poster, and sometimes it advertised an airline. But it was only in the last week of his solitude did the billboard really change to Gregor.

He noticed this when, at last, the doctor came in to visit him. The man's familiar voice asked one question: "What do you want to do now, Gregor?" And Gregor looked out the window at the billboard. It said: Greetings from Haiti, and had a picture of an island. It wasn't THE Island, but to Gregor it was somehow even better. Why? Because it was real.

"I want to go there," he whispered, and nodded.