Altamore

I was wondering if you could give me C&C on what little I have of my short story already. Thanks. BTW: First post.

And I was there, leaned against the wall, bleeding against the wall, of the Fhredt Gin Station.

I still smell the blood. The gun powder. Even though they took my sight, and my voice, I can still accurately depict every moment of those days. I've seen things I hope nobody ever has to. Women and children, tortured. Barbed wire strung between their legs. Fingers and toes cut off. Have you ever seen a man have his own eyes carved out, and been forced to eat them? I have.

You learn to lean on your ears more than anything, when your other senses have betrayed you, fled fom you in fear, cowards. The slight grinding noise of the rails was present, moving farther and farther up the spectrum. Echo. The flickering of the lights got more intense as the train engaged. I could hear their buzzings. Passangers seemed to flood toward the border of the platform like a school of fish. People-fish. So unaware of the world around them, to stuck in their own minds to realize that there are people that suffer from right beneath them.

"Thank you." I nodded my head as the change hit the bottom of my empty bottle. No real words came out, mainly due to the fact that, my vocal cords had been removed. Non-surgically. Really, I wasn't even sure if they had dropped change in, or taken some out, but I didn't really care, or have to energy to reach down off my hardly solid home. A bench desperately need in repair. What could an old, blind, mute do with money anyways. "Death come swift, for no longer do I fear you, I fear myself, what I am."

Several minutes had past, the fish had entered the stream, and were on their way to the coral beds of corporation. Economy, dreaful word, one that changes lives in an instant; fueling our hatred and our passion. The rainbow of sound had dimmed, to the coughing of the homeless man huddled in the corner, and the sipping of his rum. Often I wondered if he had chosen this fate, like I had chosen mine. Often I wondered if they forgot about him, like they forgot about me, a lot changed because what we did, a lot.

Voices. At first I thought I was going crazy, I prayed I was going crazy, then It'd be done, and I wouldn't have to deal with this shit any more. But no, I was perfectly sane. I could hear them skipping a long the tracks, careless evil. It was a party no more than 6 men strong, no, a young lady's voice. It was only 5 men strong. Approaching towards the platform. They do this every friday, they run around the tunnels like rats, getting into everything, then they find some poor person to pick on. After that they usually find a nice, desolate corner to smoke up in, then proceed to be louder. You have to be gentle with these ears.

They jumped and climbed up on the platform, one by one.