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The following is a work of fiction. The characters and incidents portrayed and the namesherein are fictitious and any similarity to the name, character and history of any person,living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
ALCATRAZ
The storm blew itself out quickly through the night and from theeast the sunlight crept quietly through the dim windows of theprison cells. Outside, the wet grass after the night’s rainfallshimmered in the morning sunlight with the radiance of a thousandstars. The blue ocean seems quiet and tranquil, quite unlike theboisterous sea that it was during the night. Robert quietly smokesthe cigarette, keeping care to dump the ash in the cloth bag aroundhis waist. When he’s finished he quickly lights another one,extinguishing the cigarette on the dead guards face, somewhatsneering in contempt at the dead man’s utter helplessness, andquietly places the butt back into the cloth bag. Soon the Ferry’swould start from Pier 33, and would bring the first unsuspectingvisitors of the morning.Robert had planned this since the day Jim’s appeal to the Governorhad failed. Yesterday night Jimmy had died at the Mack Folsomprison – nope. Jimmy was killed. His kid brother. The innocent one.Robert’s thinks of the goddamn slut. Maybe he should have killedher himself. Jimmy could never have killed her. He had loved her. Asthe cigarette silently burns itself out ( it has become an unconsciousact for him now); and after tomorrow it might never be open topublic anymore. Maybe another memorial would be built here, forall his victims. Maybe at his trial he would tell them – why? If youkill innocent people, there’s no problem cos you’re the mastershuh? Now, watch what I have done here. The state of Californiamust pay for what they did with Jim. Maybe – if ever he was caught.Killing the rangers of the National Park Service was the easy part,they were sitting ducks. But something had happened when he was
 
inside the prison. He had heard voices. Someone had beenscreaming : “ Oh ! Fuck you!” , and then there were some more “OhJesus! Oh Jesus!” Robert had run till the end of the lane, droppingthe C4 like it was a toy; but when he reached the end, his .22 readyand loaded there was no one there. But the voices continued – therewere sounds of marching boots, echoing through the emptyrenovated halls – and outside the thunder raged. Robert got thechills. He ran away leaving the C4 lying there. He ran outside to themain entrance and stood just outside the glass doors, looking at thethunderous skies, not courageous enough to look back. He swore tohim that if he hears anything more, he’ll spend the rest of the nightin the boat, even if it meant being soaking wet until the morning.When the morning came, the storm had abated. Robert knows thathis plan’s success depends upon placing the dynamite in the cells.The plan was simple. Get the people to the tower, they’d ratherbelieve that it was just a hostage situation, and would co-operatewith them. Then was the easy part. He would blow the building upwith dynamite.
 And lessen the odds of anyone surviving this attack.
And he’d be masked. Not that he was sure the California StateJustice System would accept it – maybe they’d give him the deathpenalty if they ever caught him. Nope, he was just a farm mantending to his lands who just might not even be suspected of carrying out such a dastardly terrorist idea. But the idea wasrevenge. It’s personal.If I go back into the prison I die, he thinks. He’s sure that whateverflung him to the cell and blared through the microphone, was surelynot natural. Sure, he weighed nearly 200 pounds. It just wasn’t easyhowever strong the breeze, hell, a hurricane to have lifted a man of his weight and flung him the way he was. Like a rag doll beingwarned. Around him, the air turns misty. He lights another smoke.Robert can hear it correctly – there was a crunching of the boots onthe gravel. Then came the sound of the morning bugle – loud andclear. “Holy Christ!” he exclaims, when his eye catches themarching soldiers. Wearing perfect dark blue uniforms, their handsswinging high, they marched a military band march. From theopposite side, the previously invisible lieutenant emerged. Clad inshimmering white, he carried a sword around his waist, and a
 
weapon, which might have been a .22 slung low across his waist.“Guards, halt.” He shouts taking his position at the front.Robert freezes, stunned. From somewhere on a megaphone, comesa metallic hollow voice, reverberating throughout the entire island.“ PRISONERS! God sent you to us for your crimes. While we arehere, you’ll never leave this island alive. Never escape, never hide.So Help You God!”. Suddenly, from behind him, Robert smellsaftershave. The glass door opens, and an old man, dressed in greyoveralls walks past him , indifferent. He goes to the head of theparade. The white sergeant shouts some incoherent command, andthe guards turn to face Robert and the old man. Robert knows whatthe single star on the man’s shoulder means. A general. Robert runs.When he dares to look back, he sees nothing. Just the seagullsflying over the Main Building, and the clear blue skies.Robert knows that there is something wrong here. That parade itwas not alive, nor was it his imagination, just couldn’t be. Hesmokes relentlessly, still, careful not to drop the cigarette buts inthe grass. He sips silently from the canteen, closes his eyes; hishands move to the place where his cross was. He’d left it in thecupboard beside Mother Mary’s statuette. He wishes he just had itright now.He returns back to the boat, pondering; he knows he’s not goingback. He’s come here prepared to die. Die naturally or diesupernaturally Robert does not care.For the first time the storm had abated, but the occasionallightening strikes filled the night with an electric brilliance. Robertoccasionally glimpsed at the white sail of the yatch. There weremore grey clouds; Robert knows that the morning will be dull andgray – laid back. But it was cold. Robert suddenly feels it.He slides his hands back into his coat while his hands silentlybrushes past the cold metal of his automatic. To the warmth.Perhaps it was the swift wind that blew across this empty space.Robert wonders how many lived here, and the collective sorrow of the crimes they’d committed. It was the chill, the every fact that
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