Alderberry Asylum. The place where the sun didn't touch the Earth. The building that was always locked tight. The workplace for psychiatrists and doctors. The home for crazy people.

Founded by Nicholas Alderberry, mayor of Alderberry Island. An island in the Atlantic Ocean near North America. A town of happy people with jobs, families and lives to live. There were no homeless people, no uneducated people, no rapists, no protesters, no thieves and no murderers.

"Only crazies. Crazies, crazies everywhere you look." said Nicholas Alderberry to the head doctor at the asylum. Nicholas was a bit crazy himself.

In fact, he was arguably the only crazy person on Alderberry Island, even among the patients at Alderberry Asylum. For these patients had been unjustly locked up in this asylum.

Alderberry Island was a very inclusive place. It had persons of many races: black, white, Hispanic, Indian and Asian. Persons of many sexualities: gay, straight, lesbian, bisexual.

The one thing that this island lacked, perhaps, was religion. All the citizens of Alderberry Island were atheists and never acknowledged the fact, either. After all, they were perfectly content without the thought of religion existing. Weren't they?

Paul Peterson argued not. They were not happy. Not truly. It happened that one night, while sitting on his dock overlooking the starlit sky over the ocean, Peterson realized something. The stars were beautiful. The moon was radiant. The water was dazzling. The earth was soft. The air was warm. The breeze was gentle. The trees were gorgeous. And the flowers were humble.

All this beauty, Peterson noticed, was part of a larger picture. A painting created by some painter. Some artist above, looking down and admiring his painting. Every little detail of it. From the smallest violets to the largest mountains. This painter had worked so exceptionally hard to make a masterpiece as big and beautiful as this one, Peterson thought. And look at all the good he's put it his work of art, he said aloud. For once, Peterson was grateful. For once, Peterson wanted to say thank you.

But whom to say thank you to? Who was there watching over them, he pondered. A man? A woman? A transgender man? A transgender woman? A black, a white, a Hispanic? A child, a teenager, an adult? Who? WHO? Peterson wondered.

His thoughts began to soar high to the moon itself. Who are you? Peterson sent his thought up to the person in the sky.

"Who are you? Who? I know you are there! I know you have painted this world! WHO ARE YOU?"

But Peterson received no answer.

"Perhaps he is shy," Paul said aloud to myself. "That's it. Or maybe, he - or she - is too humble to admire his or her masterpiece of a painting. That person does not want to be recognized. This painter just wants to peacefully admire his work of art."

But the more Peterson thought to himself, the more facts he discovered.

"But he MUST want to be thanked. What is the point of someone giving a gift if they are not properly thanked for it? Well! Whoever you are!" he yelled up to the sky, "I will find out! And I WILL find out how to thank you properly! And I'll be open-minded to whatever or whoever you are, Creator! For I know not if you can hear or see me, but you deserve my thanks!"

And so began Paul Peterson's quest. The quest to find the Creator of the world. The Creator of the universe. He ventured out into the town every hour of daylight and asked every citizen of Alderberry that he met this question: Who is the Creator of the universe?

"Who created us?" he asked one woman. But she shook her head and closed her eyes, quickly hurrying away.

"Do you know who created us?" he asked another passerby. He, too, ignored Peterson.

"Miss! Miss, do you know who the Creator of the universe is?" Paul asked a 16-year-old brunette who held her tall, red-haired boyfriend's hand.

"No..." the brunette girl replied. "Why aren't you working? Aren't you the guy at the furniture shop?"

"I was," Paul babbled, his mind still focused on his quest. "I quit. I'm trying to find out who the Creator of the universe is. Do either of you know?"

But the couple shook their heads and subtly rolled their eyes. Paul was too busy to notice. He asked every person in sight, sprinting up to them, calling to them, even knocking on doors.

Word traveled quickly to the mayor. He was enraged.

"Arrest that lunatic!" yelled Mayor Alderberry. "We don't want him planting his crazy ideas in people's heads!"

So Paul Peterson was arrested on sight. He was brought before the mayor, confused as a child, but worried as a full moon.

"What is your name?" the mayor demanded.

"Paul Peterson, Mr. Alderberry."

"And what, Mr. Alderberry, do you think you're doing out in the streets? Why aren't you at work?" the mayor yelled.

"I quit my job temporally," Paul rambled. "I'm on quest to try and find the maker of the universe. The Creator of our world. The artist of this beautiful place."

The mayor chuckled silently, slowly walking in front of his desk and before Paul.

"The Creator of our universe? You mean the cause?" he said, trying to reason with Paul.

"The cause..." Paul repeated. "...was surely created by the Creator, was it not?"

"NO! It wasn't..." the mayor sighed, running his hands through his messy grey hair. "The universe was made by the Big Bang. Science can explain it FULLY in detail. Surely you've heard of the big bang?"

"Well, yes," Paul nodded. "But the Big Bang does not have a mind, does it?"

"And why, Mr. Peterson, does the Creator of the universe have to have a mind?" Mr. Alderberry asked, trying to smile.

"Because..." Paul began to say, "See...I was sitting on my dock one night, and I realized how beautiful and creatively radiant everything around me was. The stars, the moon, the ocean, the trees. Not to mention, humans ourselves. All this beauty...it just can't be completely random. This world is a wondrous master-piece and so there must be a painter. So many creative creations must have a creative Creator with an imaginative mind."

Mayor Nicholas glared in anger. He was furious with Paul. And the last thing he wanted was this crazy idea to spread throughout the island.

"He's gone mad," Alderberry said, simply. "Dr. Ross. Open up the abandoned asylum on the far side of the island. Put Mr. Peterson in there. Lock him up. Don't let him escape. Give him therapy and whatever will help him get his sanity back."

Paul was still not worried, strangely. Only bewildered by the mayor's decision. Yet, as he was placed in a small dark prison cell and realized he would be locked there for the rest of his life, Paul Peterson was happy.

He had all the time in the world to converse with his beloved, imaginative, wondrous Creator. And Paul wanted nothing more.

Over the years, the brunette girl whom Paul had met on the streets, also came to believe in a Creator of the universe. She convinced her boyfriend that the world had a maker. An artist with a talent to create beyond anyone's imagination. They both were also arrested and locked up. For Mayor Alderberry wanted no trouble, no harm, no offense to come to his peaceful island. If these ideas were spread to the citizens of Alderberry Island, the people would surely become offended and angry. War would break out.

But although he didn't realize it, Nicholas was the only one to be offended by this belief. This theory of the universe's cause. Soon, others opened their eyes and mind to the idea of a Creator. They uncovered the fantastic beauty in everything. And they, too, began asking others who this Creator was and how this person wished to be thanked.

One after the other, Nicholas locked them up in the Alderberry Asylum and psychiatrists gave them therapy. The population was decreasing as even children were being thrown into the prison for talking to the Creator, whom they often heard about. Soon enough, Alderberry Islands had no more free citizens. The doctors themselves were convinced that a Creator of the universe existed.

And eventually, Alderberry threw himself into his own asylum.