Sounds of a Forbidden World

I just began to write and this is what came out. But i think I might have a good idea here. I think I might use this idea to begin to write a play. I'll keep you informed. Enjoy this for now!

You gaze at the brick wall, fixed a meter from your grid-patterned pane. You hear heavy rain drops, not falling from the sky, but from your neighbour’s large peach tree to your far left. The water drops of rain, fall (if you prefer). The crimson coloured bricks glisten ever so slightly from the few rays of the fading sunlight that victoriously made it through the thick overcast clouds. You hear an electric saw in the distance and for some reason it brings you pleasure and relief. There are others beyond this place. Instantly you turn your head and hear an enraged male voice off to your right. You stare passively at the brick wall while your energy and mind work to figure out what he yells about or who he yells at. Could be anyone you decide – a disobedient child pedaling to quickly and gaining to much distance; a woman who brings to light a discussion which should have left to be discussed in the security of his home; a stranger who so aggressively collides his shoulder and deserves nothing more than a foreign curse. You hear nothing for a long moment and decide that it was just another moment of frustration that is so easily disregarded. You sit. You jolt back to the pane and listen. A screeching car makes its way east to your left. You picture a young boy sitting in the driver’s seat holding a lit cigarette, leaning towards the door, cap pulled low. He doesn’t slow down for the warning speed bumps and you hear the scratch of metal on the wet concrete floor. Another car is turned on; it must have been parked along the road you have never seen before. It drives off. You wait another moment for another intriguing sound that will help you to define the work beyond the brick wall, but you hear nothing. You sit and wait as you have been doing for eternity, it seems. You hear a plane, stand, stare, listen until all has gone quiet and sit again. This routine has become your only stories, your only knowledge of what was so generously given and harshly taken away. The world has become a brick wall and sometimes, water drops of rain.