The Last Broadcast

The city no longer breathed in sound. It trembled in silence.
I moved through the cold morning fog like a shadow, careful not to let the worn soles of my boots scuff too loudly against the cracked pavement. The Sound Monitors were always listening. They patrolled the streets on silent wheels, their long antennae sweeping for the smallest decibel. Even a cough could mean death.
Graffiti marked the walls in defiance: SILENCE = SURVIVAL.
I pulled my scarf tighter over my face