Fishy Escape

Escape

I am small and thin. Wiry. Perfect for a burglar. The trouble is, on my last job, a sucker got himself killed. I didn’t mean it. His fault, moron. I got a life sentence, stuck here in Alcatraz. But I will get out, you see. I’ve got plans. Lots of different plans. But I am homing in on one, the best one. I need wire, wire snippers and bread, lots of bread. I join the prison handicrafts group and make model wire sculptures. All rubbish, of course, but I manage to keep plenty of wire, and the snippers. Bread is easy. As much as you want for lunch. I fill my pockets.

Now the second part of my plan is most cunning. I tell the warders I need fresh air. They give me access to the rooftop. I can’t climb down from there, it is a hundred and eighty feet high, a sheer drop. I have no plan to climb down. Madness. No, I’m going to fly, all with the help of my friends, the herring gulls. It’s a big gull wingspan over five feet, yeah, that is a big gull and strong, used to flying in storms and over the ocean.

So I am up on the roof. I start feeding bread to the birds, every day, They start coming by habit, poor wretches, they don’t know my plan. After I have them trained to come regularly, it’s time to put them to work. Out comes the wire and snippers. I make snares, a loop of wire to catch their feet. I attach about twenty snares at points around the restraining rail with bread in each snare. The unsuspecting birds come down, stick their feet in the snares, and get caught. They flutter around and squawk. I made myself a harness with a clip and go around from one snare to another clipping each one onto my harness. I start feeling lighter as the birds fly around tugging at their restraining wire. At last I attach the last snare. I can hardly stand, I feel my heels rise off the roof, then my toes, my feet are off. I’m in the air. I’m flying to freedom. Goodbye Alcatraz. Horray. Except one problem. The birds are all flying in different directions. I’m in the air, but not going anywhere. Curse it.

The wind is blustery. I get lifted higher. Some gulls are flapping their wings. Others are cruising, soaring on the uplift. But whoa! I’m moving. I’m off the roof. I’m over the rocks and the crashing sea a hundred and eighty feet below. I hope these birds know what they are supposed to do. They keep pooping on my head. I daren’t look up in case I get one in the eye. I daren’t look down. I’m scared. The birds keep flapping and soaring, I’m going nowhere. Why don’t these birds get their act together, fly as a flock, go somewhere. Any minute, they’ll start flagging and drop me. I didn’t expect this.

Another blast of wind. It takes the birds straight back over the roof. They start to weaken. I land. I’m back in the prison again. You can never trust a bird. No more bread for them. They don’t deserve it. I set them all free.

But I am not finished. I’ve got another plan, even better. I’m going to build a submarine and harness the fish.