Our visit to Alcatraz was anything but ordinary. As we stepped onto the island, a mix of feelings washed over me. Having never seen a prison before, I was curious about the inner workings. However, the place itself exuded hopelessness, confining the memories of the darkest souls within its stone walls.
Outside, the day stood in stark contrast to the prison’s somber interior. Sunshine bathed the island and green trees softened the harsh edges, their leaves rustling in defiance of the grim history. Amidst the stone, seagulls tended to their chicks—a metaphor for life’s persistence, even in the bleakest corners.
Guided by an audio tour, we explored the dim corridors of Alcatraz. What struck me were the names given to the corridors—Time Square, Broadway, and other familiar streets. These labels felt like mocking reminders, exerting additional psychological pressure, as if the outside world seeped through the cracks.
As I reflect on our visit, I find Alcatraz left an indelible mark of the haunting echoes of the past. While I am grateful for the experience, I cannot say I enjoyed it. Perhaps some places are meant to be felt more than enjoyed.
