Pyrolila

When I was seven, I was diagnosed with emotions. "Poor girl." I heard them say. "She'll never survive this one." I laid with my face towards the ceiling on the cold examination table, listening to them discuss my fate. I felt something breaking in my chest and something burning inside my throat. A small tear slipped down my cheek. "Doctor! Look at this!" Shrieked my mother, "Something is coming out of her eye." The doctor rushed over to me and wiped the tear from my cheek. He touched the top of my head as he whispered, "I am so sorry." And then he turned to my mother. "It's a tear. It means that she is sad." "Sad?" My mother asked inquis