We wrote, painted, performed. No one noticed. We gave in, pandered, mollycoddled. We were praised. We dug deep, practiced, provoked. We were persecuted. We gave up, pondered, played. We were happy, for a time. But we were alone.
Art became formulaic, sanitized, commodified. Familiarity mattered. Visibility debased content and coherence. Popularity mattered. External reflections replaced individual expressions. Conformity mattered. Conformity was easy, comfortable, privileged. Belief became lucrative, to the believers. "We" was no longer "you and I."
Dogmatists fed the believers, oracles fed the dogma. Oracles plucked the fruit, iconoclasts watered the withering vine. Believers always love oracles over iconoclasts.
YOU ARE READING
100 Words on Oracles and Iconoclasts
Short StoryBriefly, art in a dystopian society. 🏅Winner in the @dystopianapocalypse prompt: https://www.wattpad.com/1190089819-contests-challenges-dystopian-drabbles
