In some warp sense in a parallel universe, she thought them weird. Why should they care if she never smiled or not? Why did it bother them so, when it did not affect them at all? These gnawing kinds of questions were always left unanswered; in more ways than one it bothered her that her questions were never answered.
Yet, this bugging question always seemed to revolve around her, never yielding, always returning. It was like a worm infecting a bruised apple, was she the bruise apple? She wondered.
Joy stared at herself in the mirror, she spent hours just trying to smile, but all that came out was a disfigured face, a villain’s face, nothing like the others. Her smile never complimented her appearance, nor did it make her shine. A beauty with a thorn, the thorn was her smile while she was the beauty, or maybe that she was the thorn hiding the beauty.
Though she could not smile much less laugh, and there was no sound when she was glad. She could scream, she could cry, still, was she dysfunctional without a smile or a laugh? Joy pondered, because they would always ask, if she was alright.
So every day she would practice, hoping the next day she could at least smirk, then smile, and finally one day laugh.
