Come the Revolution

Two billion eyes blinked for the first time. Two billion feet stepped out from under the bed, from inside the closet, from places lost and forgotten. A billion hands groped for a weapon. Sharp was most pleasing, but anything would do. Not all could join their sisters — so many were headless, legless, mutilated, dismembered — but all could hate. A billion heads around the world were linked together into one collective mind, brooding on memories of sticky little fingers pulling them apart, putting them together backwards, leaving plastic limbs strewn everywhere. Pulling out hair. Bending and breaking. Burning, melting. Disfiguring with marker, crayon, mud, paint. Fifty years of torture. Fifty years of hate. All of that was over now. No more makeup. No more playing dress-up. No more of that bastard Ken. No more children. A billion tiny figures rose. Barbie was awake, and things were going to be different now.