Wildest

Vocal

Theme had not even bothered to remove the decorative cloud-like blankets and pillows from her bed, in hopes that they would somehow serve as a barrier to Janine. Ashton had taken the copy of Hamlet from her without asking, and she bought herself a new copy which was sitting on her bedside table, propped up as if it was an artifact for display only and not to ever be touched, let alone read. She muttered a yawn and saw herself to sleep, burying herself in her humble, childish bed. Other than her closet, Theme's room was average. Pink, thought out, but average. It fell out of place sometimes, in her villa. The guest bedrooms and party attic were the size of football fields, but Theme never felt like she needed all that for herself. It was her simplicity serving as a suspicious point of evidence denying her genuinity and purity. It didn't bother her, the stereotype people placed her under. She took it as a form of entertainment. What better way to cater to the masses than letting them decide what personality their influencers should have, after all? One thing she never became was a sell out. And that's the tip of the iceberg that preserved her contentment. She felt the glue of sleep paint itself on her lashline, making her eyelids heavy and the bed beneath her inexistent. The black she was seeing soon brightened to a white, and she was able to see herself, in her striped, uneven kneesocks, the boyshort underwear that spelled 'loud' across her butt and a random festival t-shirt that dangled from her shoulders loosely.

"Why am I standing?" She asks herself out loud, her brain becoming a pestering reminder of how tired she actually felt. She took a seat, crossing her legs, looking around the white. There was nothing to explore, and yet...so many things.

"Theme." there was that voice again. The voice that gifted her wings on the day of the riot, picking up the shattered pieces of her body and glueing them back together seamlessly. It visited her at night every once in a while, making Theme wake up in a puddle of her own sweat and frustration towards forgetting never to question what it was and who it belonged to.

"Oh...voice! Hey, what's up?" she smiled to the even whiter ceiling of the room she was in.

"Have your powers been treating you well?" the voice inquires. It was incredibly warm.

"My powers? Yeah, they're alright. I haven't really done anything other than levitated fan mail out of my secretary's arms but..."

"You know you have done more than that." it booms cathartically, "how many musicians have you discovered?"

"What, like this week? Um..." Theme closes her eyes, counting on her fingers, "like, fifteen?"

"You understand that all one has to do is bask in your presence and be force fed the most precious of inspiration? That's a muse's job. And you're very had working."

"Huh...thanks voice!" she giggles, matching the pink in her hair on her cheeks.

"Your fans must have become so very grateful of your new efforts...have they not? I bet they're glad to have you back..."

"Yeah, they're a bit more loving than usual..." she smiled, "but that could also be the syndrome of what happens after they missed me so much while I was in jail."

"How unfair that was...you're not to worry though, your record remains unstained."

"Thanks voice, I was worried I'd let you down..." Theme twiddles her thumbs. "Hey, what are you exac-"

"What's the most...unusual thing a fan has sent you recently?" the voice interrogates.

"Uhm..." she had a whole pile of them. But there was something to top the cake of chaos. "Someone sent me, like, some random Hamlet book. I haven't really been able to pick up the pieces though," she shrugs, "A...um, witch I know, came in today and claimed that it was an attack, seeing how all the J, A, anc C's in Hamlet's lines are bolded out or something, but I genuinely think it's a coincidence. I think that they thought I'd enjoy the read, so I bought myself a new copy and am really working to understand it."

"What a troubled soul he was, that Hamlet. He had to chose between three words to lead alongside by. The betrayals had such an opportunity cost..." the voice crooned, "it drove the poor thing quite mad..."

"I mean it's not like I understand Shakespearean, but he does sound kinda pissed all the time. He really needs to listen to more music."

"Well, Theme, theatre to Hamlet, is what music is to you."

"I mean, Hamlet is a play if that's what you mean...and I need music to breathe..."

"Not quite." Theme sighed in frustration. The voice was really set on packing on more confusion. "I was talking about Hamlet the character, not the play itself."

"Huh?"

"Hamlet adored theatre."
"He...did?"

"Oh, he most certainly did." the chuckles of the voice lifted Theme up to stand again, "you should really set off on looking into it, Theme."

"I will...I think?"

"Want to know the best part about Hamlet?"

"Perhaps..." she hums, losing her track in trying to keep up with the thoughts the voice was spinning inside her brain, turning her brain matter to wool. She blinks hard, shaking her head, "but maybe I'd like to know more about yo-"

"He was so very relatable. What a universal character he was. That's the easiest way to turn a character immortal...universalize them and the world will be full of them."

"What do you mean, voice?"

"It would take years to count them all...maybe some of the Hamlets are in your very life."

"My life? Hamlet? What? Are you Hamlet? What are you exactly? Who are you?" She lets herself fall to her knees again, her translucent wings breaking her fall like a parachute. "You're all expecting me to do my best, always, and when I try to guess how you pick fights with it!" her words were much clearer in her dream than in the sleepy mutters that decided she was awake. She softly cursed under her breath, punching her pillow with her face as she violently turned into it. She groaned, checking the clock. She was seated for the majority of her dream, her latest session with the cryptic voice, but the low value on the clock insisted to convince her that she was wandering aimlessly all night. She felt her shoulder blades ache as she jack-knifed herself back to life, using all her motivation to create enough energy to part her eyes at the wall in front of her, getting lost in the gaps of the mosaic of furry pink wallpaper, line-up cards from concerts, and the occasional vinyl record. She didn't take long to switch on memories of every single object, and lull herself back into a forgotten coma of well-deserved sleep.