The Island is located off the coast of Spain. To most observers it looks like pristine terrain. It sits in the North Atlantic Ocean alone and forlorn. In the winter it is windswept and rain torn. But in the summer it looks virgin and lush, with tall trees, shrubs, and bushes. Sailing on a ship past it, we see flowers. Some people who plant flowers live there, it seems to me. The problem is we viewers never see a soul. We do see wildlife, including the mole. So who lives there? It is a refuge for writers who dare to live on it. They live alone in cottages and get together to write and share. Like birds of a feather, these people have to live away from daily distractions in order to write. In their lost souls they share a common plight. They all share a harsh despair. The scope for writing about it is vast. One lady is writing her memoir of incest. Her tragic story is only one example of what is written by the rest. A man left civilization long ago and feels homeless. His writings speak of sorrow and loneliness. Another man broke an engagement to please his widowed mother. Then his mother betrayed him by finding and marrying another. One lady is writing about her devastating divorce. Her ex-husband married immediately and felt no remorse. Another lady’s only daughter died young of meningitis. Now she is all alone and crippled with rheumatoid arthritis. When a story is written, readers want to know what went wrong. That is why writers write the same sorrowful song.
The Mystery Island is an isolated island surrounded by the sea. There is no human habitation that I can see. One area contains a leafy green forest. Its lush green foliage would be a sight for many a tourist. Scattered here and there are metal cases. There are traces of hermits who may have lived here once. Dominating the centre is a rather gruesome marble edifice. Steps, platforms, and chains attest to its use for human and animal sacrifice. Absence of spires and crosses indicate a pre-Christian religion. We see places of worship that are signs of pagan fascination. Little temples and decorations on the hills show us a land with belief in fantasy. We also see human and animal bas-reliefs scattered around. In another part of the forest we see a building resembling a mausoleum. It is surrounded by a graveyard that is overgrown with an arboretum. Is this an island where fairies and nymphs and leprechauns once thrived? We see insects and bees hovering over a bee hive. Surrounding it is the wild, wavy, shark-ridden ocean whose blue waters resemble a woman’s cosmetic lotion. Wooden structures on the coast indicate the docks of a seafaring nation. Obviously this island has known human habitation. Maybe it was destroyed by a natural disaster. Like Atlantis the legendary lost continent that sank. How human habitation disappeared from this island we will likely never know. Its mysterious story is probably buried in the sea below. We also see a mountain resembling a volcano that has died. Did its lava overflow and cover the countryside? Was this a pagan nation that disobeyed its gods, so that they decided to eliminate the population with an oceanic tidal wave. In the water by the coast we see no ships or boats. In the interior of the island we see no grazing cows or goats.
