She popped a Xanax and tried to go back to sleep. 

The screamings started as soon as she closed her eyes-startled,she sat up. 
Sweat had broken on her brow. 
The rational part of her tried to reason with her-it is ok to sweat when you hear a dead person’s voice,you were not at fault. It happened. You need to move on. 
A morbid smile crept to her lips,move on from what?
To what?
Her eyes glazed over. It was time. 
This hour came everyday and passed into oblivion till the next day. 
She drifted in the interweaving period.
How could she move on from killing someone?
How will she ever overcome this?
What was her purpose?
This and many other questions plagued her as she sat and wept beside her own grave.