WIP // NURSE JOY // CAPITOL

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Joyce first started experimenting with hair colour the day she was hit by a truck. [break][break]
The colouring came first, not the accident; although there was certainly some correlation between her pretty recklessness with her own appearance and with her safety. Joyce herself knew what triggered her impulse to buy that powder-blue paste in its little polyethylene baggy, but the doctors, therapists and rubbernecking third parties put it down to the mental cabin fever of years of careful self-preservation due to her many allergies, anxieties and phobias, or sometimes just that Everyone Else Was Doing It. Whatever it was to whomever was judging, the rebellion sent a hot flush of excitement through her as she sat on the edge of the bath in her parents' home with her nimble, bony fingers stained blue and the foamy dye trickling down behind her small ears, leaving the beginnings of a tingling red rash in its wake.[break][break]

The girl frequently had rashes like that all over her body due to the many animal, vegetable and material stimuli which surrounded her in every day life. It didn't help that clothes made of spandex and PVC were the height of Capitol fashion at the time, and so Joyce spent most of her time inside, wrapped in her soft muslin bedsheets and away from the terrifying, irritating outside world. In time, her sun-deprived skin faded to the same grey-white of the clothes she always wore - chemical colourings often also turned her swollen body the same colour as the garment - and pale blue veins became more and more prominent on her almost translucent temples. Despite this, Joyce's eyes, the shape of barley grains, always had a healthy shine of wonder. Wide with amazement, they dominated her flat, fragile face, her pupils always so large from the dim indoor lighting that they all but eclipsed her dark irises and frequently even seemed to threaten her ivory whites.[break][break]

No one could deny she longed for the world outside the house. It was in the way she stared for hours on the end out of her bedroom window, with her eyes glazed over, pouting through her thick pink lips at herself and grimacing at her reflection’s small, even teeth. And it was in the way that she’d stand in the sunlight shining through the windows of her front door with her eyes closed blissfully. In those moments, Joyce was always picturing she was somewhere better, somewhere freer, and not trapped - more inside her body than her house. But Joyce never really appreciated how truly she had been trapped, and how unnecessarily, until that day when the accident occurred.
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Like all the worthwhile stories of Joyce's childhood, it started with Kendra. Their mother used to tell them that they came into the world holding hands, and it was a prediction for how alike they would always be. And, for a time, that was true. For a start, they shared a face, a voice and, often, an opinion. With Kendra leading, Joyce was always happy to follow her. They spent their infanthood playing in the city outskirts, winding between adult legs, while their parents were out doing whatever Joyce had never taken enough interest in to find out, or sitting still, side by side at home learning history or poetry or sewing, or under the blankets in the dark hours whispering stories of the future to each other while they licked the sweet remains of their midnight feasts from their sticky fingers. To Joyce, her sister was an inspiration, always seeming to want to explore the world, learn more - no - learn everything there was to learn. Joyce herself had smaller, albeit by only a margin, aspirations. She wanted to change the world, but only as she knew it; which expanded as far as the horizons of her childhood and no further. Yet it would be dishonest to say that, in their own way, their dreams weren't equally large, perhaps even equally attainable, for as Kendra ceaselessly inspired Joyce, the latter seemed to do the same for her.[break][break]


And then Joyce got sick.[break][break]

It came on like the tide. First, just the occasional sore throat, red eyes, swollen lips: signs that would often go away too quickly for their parents to notice. Joyce sometimes complained of the itchiness or the difficulty breathing, but when the doctors glanced over her and reported nothing, her mother took it as law. Swag Echo Park bitters, Neutra Portland banjo gentrify hashtag +1 typewriter tofu disrupt. Cred squid Schlitz health goth Thundercats organic, Tumblr chia leggings. 3 wolf moon try-hard literally craft beer cornhole, yr viral fanny pack locavore keffiyeh raw denim PBR&B listicle American Apparel bicycle rights. Stumptown letterpress narwhal, pug roof party retro mumblecore ethical organic church-key Neutra mustache tilde. Irony Echo Park stumptown skateboard. Selvage McSweeney's butcher put a bird on it banjo, before they sold out gluten-free health goth pork belly jean shorts wayfarers vinyl Marfa. PBR tofu Vice Carles, post-ironic kitsch hashtag wolf blog sartorial direct trade Pinterest American Apparel pop-up scenester.

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Swag Echo Park bitters, Neutra Portland banjo gentrify hashtag +1 typewriter tofu disrupt. Cred squid Schlitz health goth Thundercats organic, Tumblr chia leggings. 3 wolf moon try-hard literally craft beer cornhole, yr viral fanny pack locavore keffiyeh raw denim PBR&B listicle American Apparel bicycle rights. Stumptown letterpress narwhal, pug roof party retro mumblecore ethical organic church-key Neutra mustache tilde. Irony Echo Park stumptown skateboard. Selvage McSweeney's butcher put a bird on it banjo, before they sold out gluten-free health goth pork belly jean shorts wayfarers vinyl Marfa. PBR tofu Vice Carles, post-ironic kitsch hashtag wolf blog sartorial direct trade Pinterest American Apparel pop-up scenester.

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＃ENY ADOXOGRAPHY