Work Text:
Hazel Levesque was a damn poet.
One of those crazy women who wrote about every little disaster in their monotonous and boring lives, which they hated with all their hearts.
She had once written a poem for her mother, Marie. The older woman had said that she had hated it and slapped her daughter in the face so that, for the first time, she felt that the woman didn't hate her so much.
If Hazel could say anything about herself, she would say that, with all the certainty in the world, she was a cursed person who deserved her curse.
She had always been told that she was a horrible person and that she deserved everything bad and rotten that had happened to her. And she, like an innocent child, believed the bitterly bitter words of older people frustrated with their own lives.
Besides being a damn poet, Hazel was a dreamer, she dreamed of everything. And sometimes, she fantasized about her own death, thinking about how much happier her mother's life and the lives of everyone around her would be.
Her mother would be able to live the life of a queen she had always dreamed of, and her father would finally come back to her. Sammy would no longer have to worry about a burden, and people would never again be cursed because of her.
The world, after all, would be happier without Hazel Levesque.