Atlas

The morning of my release didn’t feel like freedom at first.

It felt… quiet. Too quiet.

The walls of the correctional facility, usually humming with voices and footsteps, seemed to hold their breath. I sat on the edge of my cot, staring at the sunlight sneaking through the bars — golden, faint, unfamiliar. My hands trembled a little as I tied the laces of my worn shoes, the same ones I’d worn when I walked in here almost a year ago.

I’d thought this place would break ...