March 16, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) go down the rabbit hole to a place where art is not allowed. It could be a small story or a dystopian vision. Is there a power struggle over art? Would the general public miss it? Is the end of art a natural evolution? Go where the prompt leads.
No colour, design, or personal expression lived here.
It was a cheerless run down place, run by run down cheerless people, who basically couldn’t give a damn provided their paycheck went in every week.
The Chairman didn’t care he had crippled the community, taking away a way of life, the soul of humanity for those who had nothing else.
No reason, no notice, no choice.
Spiralling into the pit of despair, they left in droves, to where, no-one knew.
Now, the waters lie empty, and those hardened enough remember the days when the Art of Life was staying alive.