Bizma’s class trip the museum had left her with many uneasy questions about the war, the demise of monetary systems, the lack of adult humans, the bots that watched over them, and what would happen to her and her classmates as they graduated and went to prom.
“Why is my prom dress hanging off the balcony?” she asked parent-bot agitatedly.
“Wevk spilt water on it; I’m letting it air dry.”
“Where will Bizma go after prom?” little, teary-eyed Wevk asked.
Parent-bot didn’t answer; did not give any indication of the impending doom that awaited the girl bot raised from infancy.
—–Dystopia: 100 words—-