Microcephaly

They used to call her a freak. Poorly made doll, head so small and full of air. She used to dance, because she couldn't hear their jeers. Then she grew old, and the silence of her golden years melted into the shrieking screams of a woman neglected. They'd played around with her all these years, and only now did she feel the stings. There she goes, wandering the streets, begging for a change.