Theatrics

Single file line,
Being herded like cattle.
Ominous light.

Looking around.
Paint peeling from walls,
A skeleton of what was once a thriving theatre.

Dust fills the air,
Lungs heavy.
Confusion.

Breaking off,
A room.
Once a WC.
Now hollowed out.
A mirror, fogged and scorned.

A reflection barely shown.

Nobody had seemed to notice my absence,
In their robotic state of mind.

Curious, my soul inquired the history of this place,
Where we were all captured and slaves.
Not a single one thinking for themself.

Where had we ended up?
A theatre with no theatrics.