The theatre had been modelled on a beehive, that much was certain, and though it had remained disused for the last fifty years local urban explorers had declared it utterly unique for a plethora of reasons. Whatever footage they took would go viral within the hour, the public craved their next upload from the comfort and safety of their seats.
Though the stunning architecture was the official selling point of their videos (not to mention the subsequent tourism to their town from people who just wanted a glimpse of the theatre) the main reason their videos garnered so much attention was that they managed to include the old workers.
Now they weren't old as in former employees - they still believed the theatre was up and running in perfect order, showing the classical, timeless plays of their age. the fact that they were little more than yellow goop holding a skeleton together with the tattered and slowly dissolving remains of their uniforms trapped inside like a fly in amber, was another matter altogether.
Affectionately dubbed "honeys" they liked to lead the local explorers around, offering them seats which they had to decline each time for fear that they might never be able to leave them again. There were enough bodies lying about the place to confirm that the honeys didn't mean to be malicious but the death toll was around seventy eight and (unfortunately) rising each year.
There was always someone who had a genius way to get unstuck from the chairs or to survive whatever food and drink they were given. Despite there being no success in these endeavours, the thought that it might still be possible was enough to keep these fools coming in with sticky spray remover, covered in foil, holding trick cups and trick bowls that let their contents pour out harmlessly to the floor.
The theatre had been modelled on a beehive, that much was certain, and whatever the architect had done to the place, it was becoming less and less recognisable as anything else.
Though the stunning architecture was the official selling point of their videos (not to mention the subsequent tourism to their town from people who just wanted a glimpse of the theatre) the main reason their videos garnered so much attention was that they managed to include the old workers.
Now they weren't old as in former employees - they still believed the theatre was up and running in perfect order, showing the classical, timeless plays of their age. the fact that they were little more than yellow goop holding a skeleton together with the tattered and slowly dissolving remains of their uniforms trapped inside like a fly in amber, was another matter altogether.
Affectionately dubbed "honeys" they liked to lead the local explorers around, offering them seats which they had to decline each time for fear that they might never be able to leave them again. There were enough bodies lying about the place to confirm that the honeys didn't mean to be malicious but the death toll was around seventy eight and (unfortunately) rising each year.
There was always someone who had a genius way to get unstuck from the chairs or to survive whatever food and drink they were given. Despite there being no success in these endeavours, the thought that it might still be possible was enough to keep these fools coming in with sticky spray remover, covered in foil, holding trick cups and trick bowls that let their contents pour out harmlessly to the floor.
The theatre had been modelled on a beehive, that much was certain, and whatever the architect had done to the place, it was becoming less and less recognisable as anything else.
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