When Hazel tossed around her bed for the hundredth time, she knew it, she probably was not getting any sleep tonight. She threw the cover off of her, grabbed her pillow and began screaming into it. When she was done, she swiftly regained her composure and tucked her hair behind her ears puffing a breath like nothing just happened.
Hazel just couldn't sleep; she had done all the things considered therapeutic, all the things our therapists would have suggested she do if she told anyone of them. All the things that would keep insomnia away she had done. Hazel looked around the room, staring at the walls, they were covered in paint, she didn't know why that little obvious information intrigued her that much. "Was her brain okay?" She thought.
