The theatre stood out like a sore thumb amongst the dark, dreary shops surrounding it. Fifty years ago, it may have attracted people like honey to

bees. But now, people avoided it like the plague. Years of pounding rain left the paint faded and cracked, and the windows were smashed,

surrounded by the glass that once filled them. The building had been abandoned and forgotten by people who once cared for it. Tears of rain

were permanently present on the doors of the theatre, and fatigue left them creaking and groaning in the bitter wind. This sorry sight left people

curious for answers, but few were brave enough to ask for them.

The lobby of the theatre was no better. The silver moonlight gave the room an ethereal elegance, but sunlight was harsh and exposed the room

for what it really was. Only spiders were brave enough to call this place "home", and covered the room with a fine film of silk. The mirrors that

covered the walls were now so broken, they would make even the most beautiful person hideous. They had been slashed and left with thousands

of scratches across their faces, adding to the dismal décor of the room. The smell of dust coated the room like paint, covering every corner and

wall, and as strong as the wind that now battered the bruised building. The once golden staircase was now dull and lifeless, challenging anyone

foolish enough to cross its path.

The icing on the cake, however, was to be found in the stomach of the theatre. The velvet chairs were so dirty; you would assume that they had

always been grey instead of the vivid scarlet that they once were. The seats in the stalls were so charred and burned, that you would have barely

believed that there were any chairs there at all. The skeleton of a crystal chandelier lay feebly on the splinters of the former stage, with the

glittering stones hanging from it like curtains. The sculptures surrounding the room remained lifeless and still, forever holding their looks of horror

and fear. You could still smell the smoke that, for one hour, filled this ruined room. The faded ceiling was split in two by a crack that scarred the

baby-blue sky, exposing the chains that held the chandelier. This chain was coiled around the black remains of the chandelier like a great, golden

snake.

At the back of the theatre, a graveyard had formed of costumes and props that were never used and long forgotten. You could no longer

distinguish costumes for men or women, or find the difference between a suit and a dress.

This building's spirit, along with the people, had fled, leaving behind nothing more than an eyesore, a mere shadow of the grandeur that gave this

building life.