I remember, once, long ago,
A little girl was put in trial, by order of The Dictator.
Not a specific one, like Mussolini, or Stalin, just someone who had power, and used it viciously due to their own fears.
I remember being surprised by the refusal to let her tears drop, as she was berated for her crimes by the prosecutor, even though we could all see the shininess of those tears in her big, vulnerable eyes, she clenched her jaw and fisted her hands and kept her pain inside.
The prosecutor ranted and raged, while the jury was afraid to get involved, and jeered along at the court of fools, and the judge was, for all intents and purposes, quite absent, and so the little girl did all she could to stay strong.
The crime was atrocious: caring too much about something her majesty had little regard for, and in doing so, forgetting to dedicate an hour to fetching and carrying for her Grand Highness Supreme.
The defense, a weak man under the face of such extreme pressure, caved, and suggested to the little girl that she should just admit guilty, and take the punishment: telling her greatness how awful a human being this little girl was, for neglecting to do a simple task (A point that, truthfully, the prosecutor had taken her loud, drowning voice and drilled into everyone's brain), and to let her tears show, to show everyone how weak she was.
This little girl was all alone, and clearly feeling humiliated and distraught. But still, even when brought before the court of fools, she did not let a single tear fall.
There's no shame in crying, when one has a reason.
It's ok to cry for another, and for yourself, and for your losses. Sometimes, it's even ok to cry just to cry. But crying from humiliation, would prove weakness, and even the little girl knew that weakness was never an option.
The jeers and laughter of the oily court of fools struck something inside that pigtailed child, and she refused to give in.
"Break that stubbornness, little one, and her majesty may be merciful." Oozed the defendant. "Just give in."
"Never." Was the nonverbal reply, issued in the folding of her arms across her tiny, hollow chest.
I have never forgotten that little girls last look, and I know, even when I become so old I can no longer tell right from left, I will never forget her strength.