The day had unfolded like so many others. You found yourself in Amanda’s room, the lamp extinguished and the curtains drawn tight. Amanda lay listlessly on the couch, her face upturned to the ceiling. The usual energetic spark was gone, replaced by an obvious weariness and a quiet sadness that seemed to weigh on her. Her drawings adorned the wall above the sofa.

“Hey, what do you.. want to do today?” you asked, the words coming out slightly stilted.

“I don’t care,” she said, her voice flat. “I don’t feel right.” She rolled over, presenting her back to you, an unmistakable sign that she didn’t want to talk. Her brown eyes were shut tight, revealing a weariness tinged with irritation, and she released a slow, quiet exhale.

"I already tried drawing some pictures but that didn't help.."

she uttered, a subtle turn bringing her gaze up towards the ceiling, revealing the weight of her disquiet.