Три часа дня, они как обычно выходят после уроков втроём во двор, стоящий неподалёку от школы, перед тем как разойтись в разные стороны. Двор не видно с улицы, учителя тут тоже не ходят — идеальное место чтобы покурить и обсудить сонм тем, беспокоящих пятнадцатилетних парней.

"How did she react?"  

In the dim milky veil of night darkness, he was being squeezed of emotion. Feelings that he had accumulated for months now brought tears to his face, requiring immeasurable effort to hold them back. They were threatening to start rolling down from his eyes, for no one but him to witness. The sun would rise only two hours from now, yet the inability to fall asleep pushed him to get up. He was out of firewood; his axe (a long-time trusty tool in these conditions) looked at him from the corner of the hallway as he got dressed.

What is this life we rush forth through, Where we can't stop to notice true?

It flooded him suddenly. An immense, pressurised wave of emotion, story, love, tragedy, joke, opinion, nudge to believe. He forgot what he wished to do and fell into the wave. It was vast, infinitely deep, and infinitely emotional.

The way to do this, the way to do that...

Quietness was hard on his ears at first. It was louder than anything he had ever heard before. But with nothing reminding him of the past, he moved on.

It was starting to get late.

"It is interesting" — he thought.

He checks on the plants inside. He checks for bugs. He checks the moisture of the soil. He checks the dust on the leaves.

It is always so loud in the countryside. You can't rest, can't get away from this noise. It's infinite, it's all-encompassing, it's...

The right to see...