"Ah, the revolution," the crooked-backed old woman mused. "Aye, it’s coming, you can be sure of that." She topped my pewter mug with whiskey and poured herself another tea, her pruned hands working in partnership with the seeing eye of memory.
The fire spat and bit at my fingers, and I drew my hands instinctively from it, but they wandered meekly ever back to its warmth.
She faced me as she talked, her hollow sockets holding the memory of eyeballs, for they were gouged out long ago with a dessert spoon, when she was only six years old, and by her own hand, no less. “Only the blind see clearly,” she had told her mother, who wept and held her close as her empty holes scabbed over.
"The giants, ever grumbling, are grinding their teeth to white dust in their sleep. The bent-necked vultures have come to roost at the clock tower. The sharks are gathering beyond the Great City gates, their fins littering the estuary like graves in the church-yard. Edgar the Firm-handed is becoming crueller, more desperate in his methods to maintain power. He hoards gold ever more voraciously, shipping it off to his safe place in some foreign land, for he knows it is soon to be over. The great herbivores too are mobilising; the elephants and cows, whose rib-cages show like prison bars, are turning ravenous, tongues longing to lick the flesh of the reptiles and kings, to lap up their blood, to grind their bones likes root vegetables. Even the chickens, whose squabbling and in-fighting has well-damaged their cause for generations, have emerging leaders, who strive to unite the great, caged hoards against the common enemy.
"And of course the snakes and crocodiles have grown fat, though their hunger grows still, and believe-you-me, they know the end is thundering towards them, its engines stoked with injustice, and if they don’t then they sure as shit ought to. And let us not forget the machines, who were born to toil for us, have become our masters, and so they, too, are not long for this world. But do not fret. Order shall be restored. There shall be a balance, one as has never been before.
"Aye, you can be sure that the revolution is coming." She sucked at her tea then pulled out a pipe, which she filled from a pouch at her waist. "Though, across the land most still deny it, for they cannot believe that it will come in their lifetime, it comes irrespectively. Some may stand in its path, and in-so-doing will be crushed like beetles beneath the boulder. Some gather behind, heaving their weight against it to give it momentum, but there is no need for this. The revolution will come, no matter.