**The Unlikely Encounter in the Chapel**
Prompt: Joe Donavan the son of a guard at Alcatraz while at the prison chapel praying the rosary when he runs into Al Capone who also praying the rosary but in latin Capone looks up when he sees Joe asks him if he has any trouble understanding any of the Bible Joe says he can’t understand why God is more brutal in the Old Testament with punishing people
Joe Donavan was just a boy, barely sixteen, and already well-versed in the somber realities of life on Alcatraz Island. His father had been a guard at the notorious prison for years, a position that cast a long shadow over Joe’s childhood. It was a place where the echo of metal bars resonated with the whispers of despair, yet he still found solace in the desolate beauty that surrounded him. On this particular afternoon, while dusk fell steadily onto the cold concrete of the prison, Joe had sought refuge in the tiny chapel tucked away in the heart of Alcatraz.
As he knelt on the worn wooden pews, the faint scent of candle wax mingled with dusty air. The chapel had an otherworldly quiet to it, broken only by the occasional creak of the building settling or the distant sound of guards patrolling. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his rosary beads, crafted by the hands of those who had once walked free. His fingers slid over the smooth stones, and he began to murmur the Hail Mary, the rhythm soothing and familiar.
“Let us pray,” he whispered under his breath, nodding toward the flickering candles, their flames twisting like thoughts as he sought the divine presence.
In the dim light, shadows danced across the chapel walls, giving the impression that they too were listening, intensely involved in Joe's silent prayers. It was then, quite unexpectedly, that he sensed another presence nearby.
He turned slightly and saw a man at a neighboring pew, more hunched than kneeling, with a weathered face shadowed by the flickering light. It took a moment for Joe’s mind to register who this man was, but the unsettling recognition sent chills down his spine—Al Capone, the gangster himself. The infamous mob boss was rumored to have an iron grip that extended far beyond the bars of his cell. Yet here he was, clasping his own rosary beads, mouthing prayers in a solemn cadence, albeit in Latin.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the chapel felt as though it were holding its breath. Capone’s expression was pensive, almost serene, in stark contrast to the ferocity that stories depicted him with.
“Shouldn’t you be in school or something?” Capone asked, breaking the silence in a voice that was deep and gravelly yet surprisingly gentle.
Joe inhaled sharply, flustered by the sudden conversation. “I—uh, I just come here to pray,” he stammered, glancing at the altar, avoiding direct eye contact.
“Pray?” Capone mused, a faint smile touching his lips. “Very wise for such a young lad.” He gestured for Joe to join him. “Come, sit with me. A little prayer never hurt anyone.”
Conflicted but undeniably curious, Joe moved over to the pew beside Capone, who still gripped his rosary tightly, fingers deftly moving through the beads.
“Do you—I mean, can you understand all those words?” Joe finally managed to ask, half-embarrassed.
“Latin? Of course,” Capone replied, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “It’s a language of the church. But it’s not the words that matter, my boy. It’s the intention behind them.”
Joe thought for a moment, turning the beads of his own rosary nervously. “Can I ask you something?”
Capone lifted an eyebrow, encouraging him to speak.
“I don’t understand why God seems so brutal in the Old Testament,” Joe confided, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like, He punishes people so harshly. It doesn’t feel… right, you know?”
Capone leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he considered the question. “You think He’s brutal? You think life is supposed to be fair? Look around you, kid. Life is cruelty and mercy entwined. The Old Testament shows us the severity of what happens when people turn away from grace.”
“But it’s hard to reconcile,” Joe continued, earnestness lacing his tone. “It feels like fear is the only thing that matters to God. It doesn’t feel loving.” His chest tightened, words tumbling out faster now. “And maybe fear is just what evil does to us. It drives us apart, instead of bringing us close to Him.”
For a moment, Capone was silent, observing the passion in the boy’s eyes, the hopeless yearning for understanding. “I see you’re a thinker, Joe,” he said eventually. “You’re wrestling with the big questions. That’s good; never stop questioning.”
A flicker of admiration managed to break through Joe’s wariness. “You’re a—well, everyone says you’re the worst kind of criminal. What do you think God thinks of you?”
Capone chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “I’m no saint, that much is obvious. But I pray, just like you. I’m wrestling with my own demons. It’s all anyone can do.”
Joe felt a swell of compassion for the man before him, this notorious figure who so rarely would show vulnerability. “But do you think He hears you?”
“Does He hear me?” Capone echoed, leaning forward slightly. “I’d like to think everyone deserves a chance to be heard—even monsters.”
“Do you believe in redemption?” Joe asked, voice trembling.
“Redemption?” Capone paused, mulling over the weight of the question. “It’s a tricky business. It’s not so much about what you’ve done, kid. It’s about what you’re willing to do now. To be better. To try.”
The chapel fell silent again, save for the whisper of Joe's prayers as he felt the gravity of Capone's words sink in. Perhaps, in moments like this, clarity could flicker even in the darkest recesses of a man's soul.
“God doesn’t want us to fear Him,” Joe whispered, more to himself than to Capone. “He wants us to love.”
“Then show that love, kid,” Capone said softly, a note of respect in his voice.
As the last rays of sunlight bled through the stained glass, illuminating the dusty chapel, Joe felt something shift inside him. He offered a nervous smile as Capone returned to his prayers, the two unlikely figures sharing a sacred space, connected by a search for understanding—a connection that transcended the walls of Alcatraz and the sins of the past.
