The silence after the last shift

I was walking past the old prison gates yesterday—just to see, not to go in—and I heard it: the exact same creak of the gate hinge I’d heard a thousand times. Not loud, just there, like a memory with weight. I stood there for a minute, listening to nothing else. The air felt thick with things that never got said. It’s funny how the quiet becomes louder when you’ve spent your life guarding noise.