Artemis felt sequential relief in leaving the house of horrors, the pages of her cursed book began oozing beyond the caged words. She had drafted a nightmare, meant to bind and tack the worst of the worst into a hymn of a community siren. Slicked droplets of a poison, crude and fatherless. The colliding melodies of shredding of bits and beats-moments of trepidation left etched as an outlined episode of terror was all Artemis had to decipher the horrors of her past.

There was nothing but the imagination, orchestrating behind the twisted and avoidant memories between the shared timelines of her and a stranger named Burke--a boyish-man...left pacing and wiping his dirty feet upon cushions. His ghastly smile and lack of awareness had left him exposed to the public. Spared by the might of a waxed seal and slimy signature of a ghoul named Lacy. Artemis stood amongst the chaos, a blood bath falling away and splashing colorful gore around a woman standing in a blackened puddle. The world was forever more fearful of Artemis standing still, laughing at the disarray befalling anyone in proximity of a vengeful, wailing woman.

Artemis stood still as a redwood, watching a man hunch over a river of data, searching for his own name; drooling with anticipation as to what litigation may fall on anyone that dared question the misdeeds and motives of a minor. Artemis tilted her head with intrigue: "what did you find?". Burke was unprotected by his father in the thick of her pages: she had crafted a reasonable world where people were openly fearful of the "creature" that forever hated John. The foreign entity had its blood-lust filled; their cup runnith over---in a single night. Artemis was forever concerned for the surviving family, whose males expressed a certain putrid catharsis--for the fact that the world continued to worry about a slain child...a persons robbed of the right to become of a woman.

This was a world where common sense and endless theories rounded out conversations; flattened by reasoning and tethering strangers to one another by words and declaration of discourse. Artemis had taken her giant thumb, and left a deepening print on an audience-- those, ready to be uncomfortable--if it meant finding the truth and a chance at long term solutions. The blare of a horn was all it’d take, an opening scene where a heavy duty chariot rode across a barren field held valuable introduction to the worst of mankind. The opening credits with retro’fied music was all Artemis needed to shatter the glass on a dimension filled with monsters, mistresses and horrible individuals that carried out familicide on an an unsuspecting, expecting woman.

Tammy had asked Artemis for help in cracking open the mind of a chagrined beast--an immature moron with deadening eyes. He was pacing around his cage, as though he longed to finish the job and suffering from the absence of his favorite muse--a woman named for her tepid meat pie and a small brown uniform held together by strings. Artemis once bumped into him in a door-lined hallway, and observed him explaining to a passerby that he a dream; of a life where he was an investigator. There was no rest for the wicked--not even a moment of peace, there was nothing worth value offered to the guilty. Artemis didn’t like that he had the audacity to daydream of a free life--considering his reputation for slaughtering pregnant women and toddlers. The similitude between father and son, was predicated on whatever had transpired in a massive house painted the color of a dissatisfied shit. Artemis raced to the winter season...needing to wash over her story and to smooth out its complex components. Everything Chris touched was cursed and grossly negligent of what was expected of a family man; he was forever to be a husband claiming to be missing his wife and children. Her indignation for the two cowardly men in a non-familial house--had potential to prove that Artemis was the smarter man between all three...and she just happened to be a woman.

She had been thrown into a cage with flagrant beasts and maniacal creatures; left to harness them in one at a time. Artemis had bet an entire panel of behavior analysis specialist; a detailed play-by-play--of how a loving husband held his motive ascribed atop his wrinkled forehead...a man named John: forever to remain the victim. The aging man wielded pleasantness and memory lapses that stood in firm competition with his second wife; a Patsy. Male Sirens were rare to cage, for their covertly socialized spells were used to cast redirect...the man could woo a crowd by thanking them for the overwhelming amount of comfort. His need for admiration was stronger than the grief of losing two his daughters. The ally in the citizens that dealt him pity and understanding had turned the world upside down: were the small waves moved into mounting tsunamis of interests. Artemis had picked up a case file of papers; only noticing the violent overlook of the vestiges of horror that seeded from a young six year old girl; a person sexually assaulted and abandoned in her own home. A beautiful lost soul, wandering in the fog-filled afterlife by way of her own fathers indignation--chained to the idea that his child was stripped of the chance to flourish into a successful woman.

Artemis could spin in circles, entrapped in her crazed hair trailing: tabulating with a glare casting over a shining mane. Everywhere she looked--were beastly individuals: each with ticks and similarities that could be picked apart as psychological components and familiar traits that could compile focus on a sharply-pixelated picture; illustrating all that was wrong with the world. She peered in her peripherals to see John rallying his allied citizens: demanding that the government do "their job", up to his standards...the urgency in his voice--implied that he had been remotely compliant in the initial investigation twenty-something years before. The aging man was so eager to solve the death of his murder today; that it contradicted the direct actions and inaction he’d put into motion in the previous decades past.

His fiery passion was heightened times twenty, as he was forever anxious to sift through evidence...needing to know what mistakes had been left to be uncovered. What could cause such a sudden change of devotion? Nothing other than the final interval of mortality and ones grapple with time...could send a clocking device into overdrive. The pace of life quickened for John; and he became frantic and blinded-no longer able to scrub and fumble every piece of proof that his daughter existed. It was the only solution--an undifferentiated love used to protect his remaining family from their tragic past.

The man that had once been considered as tech-savvy; in a time of flourishing colors and vibes. His life; now bleak by a never ending circus show, was now under threat of collapse due to the permanent archives of data. John couldn’t repudiate the whispers of ink found on a guilty verdict-- cast upon he and his wife by a Grand Jury. He began to pace in his invisible cell: unaware he was un-caged and free to mourn the loss of a child. He had no control over the predicated narrative, even less-control than another Siren named Stephanie. A woman forever living to appeal her right to butcher any lover of "her John"--if it meant being the only viable choice in woman.

The oily, thin-lipped criminal had little chance in appealing her sadistic need to conquer a guilty verdict...content with being told no, if only it meant she could find elicit details as to the wedding between Sherri and "her" John. Sirens were notorious for their macabre obsession with pages--glistening objects, blood, and sex. They flung around words like "us" and "we", shielding themselves with clinical language; either stuck yammering on about the future with con-filled drivel...or attempting to rearrange and mutilate the past.

The world was filled with those that kept launching lies from their truths and emotions...incrementally edging their boundaries for others, further and further. A father claimed to be a leader of his community, but was ultimately proof that some people shouldn’t be privy to certain information. When the reader asked why; Artemis reminded them that the forgetful father had once stepped into a black-hole of time--and disappeared on the morning of the murder of his child. Not in the throws of grief, but mid-kidnapping. Artemis wanted to ensure that the readers took advantage of their archived timeline in events in the wild case where domestic-terrorists had raped and slaughtered a blonde child, and John had been the only one ready to gladly leave her stiffened and cold body, her droopy face; as Burke so lovingly framed it, in the misremembered past.

Each day was longer and shorter than the last. They had broken time, and gave birth to Dianne’s songs of self-forgiveness. A horn of forgiveness that was eventually passed on to a grandma named Cindy. The LOAB-like spirit had finally escaped the hallway lined with red doors that fell into eternity, and the intentions of her childhood goal hid behind a shining doorknob. Artemis wondered what lengths Hera would take to excuse, misrecall, or reason with a jury--to spare ego and reputation. There was no corner of galaxy where Artemis would be safe from the ridicule, conjecture and ill-written narrative of a woman she’d know for a couple of decades in the past.

Artemis had learned from a childhood of abuse to just leave without warning; having once attempted to save Dianne from an elongated house of horrors. The mild horrors of inconvenience and judgement was all Dianne had suffered from..specifically because Hera had noted that she was unsure of the capabilities of such an unpredictable person. It lead to the Guardian demanding Artemis swing upon her face and body without referee or precautions in battle. There was no law and order in a house built upon fear, contempt and managed by the government funded choices of a pale, evil woman.

Artemis had felt sorry for Dianne, forever worried that she believed the falsified declaration of adoption; offered instead of an apology for the event of child abuse and ordered torture. Artemis had snitched, needing the guilt to be distributed evenly; and to better understand the nightmare that was her fucked up life. They had decided to give Hera a chance, because of a hollow promise to adopt them both...one that would cause Artemis to lose her life; because it meant Dianne had been abandoned at birth--and Artemis had found a home with the Kind-Hearted Hunters. Artemis had said goodbye, climbing through a window past Dianne in the middle of the night and bidding farewell to the worst parts of her orphaned past.

Artemis’s life could be defined by a single night-with an image of her sprinting to freedom with only a bag in tow. She had wanted a life all her own; free from religious nuttery, and the mistakes of her birth parents. "Don’t look back, if you go back--you won’t survive." She’d grown wise in understanding that Hera had formed a pattern of escalation; and built a shield meant to cast doubt on any questions as to why she’d been justified in starving, assaulting, and neglecting children. Artemis had wanted to ensure a conflicted Jury had a better feather to weigh alongside Hera’s credibility-if it meant the world would admit that Artemis had always worked her best to be a better person, and loving child, and a respectable woman.

Artemis had ran to her destiny, longing to seek a family that cared enough to help pull her away from the guilt in leaving a sibling in a house filled with bad memories. They had stumbled upon a game in a cave; given a small task, to differentiate two identical bamboo containers and two different lamps. She squealed in delight, for one was hers...and one belonged to someone else. The love of present giving-gave her heart a reason to awake, errands to complete, and a moments peace; to feel relief in knowing she tried to survive day-by-day. One box was cheaper than then other, and the one lamp warmer than the other-in what it offered to the receiving participant. She had learned patience...plundering for the perfect gift, until her mind gifted her with self-assurance that she too...deserved nice things. The fear of being stripped bare; meant that the things in her possession were neither hers, or anyone else’s...all things were expected to be given over as tribute at any given moment to a greedy child-abusing woman from her recent past.

More often than not, Artemis was left to be the moral compass to a hopeless crew. The weight of world rest upon her shoulders. To be so diligent in ethical constraints; was a madness of a man with his hand to the throat of another person. A woman. There were four trails to be walked over, sprawling over to new horizons. The heartbreak and burned out spirit were only guiding reminders that Artemis belonged in a throne; ruling over the world on wheels. The separate rage she felt for those incapable to live up to their expected duties at the bare minimum; unaware of how delicate life was for others. Artemis created a simulation: portraying the still image a final farewell smile and a weapon; loaded with the hidden traumas of unforgotten past.

Pure chaos was all Artemis had known; her childhood was filled with a woman explaining the importance of killing, or being killed. The twists and turns in a narrow hallway was all that was needed to build the anticipation for the scene of a husband with floppy hair; walking home and forgetting in every other bedroom he stumbled into. The looping of time had been the perfect tipping point to run an axis along. Artemis was forever lost in the daydream of Orion sprinting alongside her stride; needing to be invisible and witness first hand; the bothersome actions of his overlooked, and underappreciated woman.

Life was more simple in the pages of a warm book; a nook to sit fireside and ponder the meaning of life. What did it mean to be without worry of occupation stability, or the longing to get more out of life. Artemis was trapped in the jealousy of such financial security. Such rounded experiences were wasteful daydreams, the fools path. She had nothing but gratitude for the bare minimum; unable to take a moment to breathe properly or gain a focal point to aim upon. Artemis was an hourly laborer; chained to debt for the childish bet in her educational potential. The crumbling foundation of a field of labor had kept Artemis stagnant in life-indifferent to the quarterly earnings, or needing to believe in any solutions given by a drooling Mechanical Boar; yammering on about magnets and remaining lost in a pale and techo-colored past.

The many beasts holding down a net, were caged criminals-stirring in their dreams and unleashing the knots of reasoning as they went about their criminal ways. Artemis had wanted to exist as a regular citizen; instead she was only left to desert her duties and ambitions to place bet in the pages of a book-scripted only twice over; by a woman weary of the many ways the world mistreated her, or set her up for failure. Its pure form of depressant, could be captured chemically by any young adult with humanitarian reasoning; simply by holding up a picture of an orange man-unable to shut the fuck up about how he hadn’t sexually assaulted an otherwise successful woman.

Artemis walked across a haunted hallway, meandering into scenes and sitting in the background with deep melancholy. All her hard work had been for nothing; perchioric acid had eroded away at the strength of her propellers on a foreign soil. Regolith jammed into mechanical devices: were all the potential of keeping death row inmates alive. She assumed the world was none-the-wiser without access into the drawn-out process of a judicial hearing, and her need to see that a monster remained locked away; left to rot and contemplate their chosen past.

“Fuck that guy.” Artemis would look away from his ugly face; Mr. Watts was a true moron, an imbecile longing only to please his mother. Artemis felt the world stir; building an entire island with their emotions and frustrations to the face of true evil. The citizens began to argue about the slaughter he brought upon the world. They said things like “I’ll never understand”, “its unfathomable, as to why--he would kill such a beautiful family, a family "that many men would die, just to have.” Artemis nodded yes in silence: “men throughout history have killed for less, and yet this piece-of-fucking-shit...did this horrendous thing, for some rando, cheap-ass looking “woman”.

Artemis said to Tammy “Fine, but we’re going to do this my way.” She set up tables and sound-proofed homes--where people gathered and argued, asking Artemis without knowing so...what her opinion on the matter was. “You don’t want to know what I think of that human piece of garbage.” The man was straight rubbish--rotten to his core...unworthy of the air that the citizens and herself paid for with their taxes. He was a human cockroach; scattering from lie to lie, resting on whatever words helped him rest for the night. She had wanted to watch his suffer; if it meant compensation for his delusional belief in rehabilitation. The ajar light shining beyond a door of freedom needed to be closed forever; if it meant locking a beast in a cage of reflections-left to relive the past.

Artemis wandered the land, seeking answers to the world’s mysteries, and in doing so: she released a slew of Titans from their static prison. “Fuck, I knew I forgot something.” Artemis began sprinting: not to veer away from danger, but to warn the citizens--that true evil had returned to their timeline. She had nightmares of a man grinning from ear to ear; holding a shield strapped to his chest-blood spattering over his pale skin. Artemis held the deep sorrow of a Nation brought to its knees, held to standard far beyond the reaches of a citizen named Theodore. The bunding had set the scene for horrendous beast a plenty, each dragging their knuckles and hiding behind the compliments given by their enabling mothers in the recent past.

Artemis had caged them away at the far reaches of a trash galaxy; locking them away; and hiding them in plain sight--on land reserved for waste and harsh weather. In harsh environments; where mortals couldn’t easily acclimate. The socially unfit, had been exiled as an entire community. “I need your help, please...my family is in trouble.” Artemis looked around the barren lands, tracing the graveyards filled with youthful Indigenous Warriors that had taken their own lives. She held out clamoring hands-in the understanding of true grief, and disappointment--asking the citizens to take her hands and to transport themselves to shelved pages of a recent past.

Artemis awoke in a red room, strapped to a wall and gagged. There was both Sherri and Shan’ann at each side: for they were three wives, their lives and death defied all logic. Artemis began to weep until her eyes bled, needing to weave a story to blanket them from the ugly peril of the world. She had moved a jaw; shaking of a bite riddled with TMJ, and dropped a red ball from her mouth. She had crafted a tale in which each woman had been slain, having dared question as to why another woman...had touched her husbands cake. Each husband was vexxed in their accepting that things were to be forever unsolved; complete with shrugs and complimentary mumbling. There was only to be one woman-gifted a courtroom; out of the three, and Artemis was aware that an attentive audience sought out her foreshadowing words. Artemis had wanted to leave hinted crumbs, to ensure the mild awe to the precision of the female instinct. Shared spells of Tromp family were proof of a shared delusion; and the depth of aiding and abetting needed to tack down and acknowledge the most dreadful of crimes...the Deprivation of Liberty. No words could surmount the fear that fell upon ones heart--whenever thinking of their daughters and mothers being tracked, caged, and ultimately assassinated; for being the most memorable type of woman.

Artemis gazed at a dusty road within her static-filled headset: a loud horn blared over the streets of a small shoreline town. The sound could disseminate the urgency to run home, or report the arrival of a great wave barreling inland. Unlike the horn she were familiar with, this one had been found so deep within the territory, that it was rich with starchy delighted soils. Her love for potatoes had meant smell-had guided her inland; towards the lingering scents of a buttery dinner, loaded with toppings and baked for days. Such guilty pleasures could mend the hormonal and agitated moods of the most fierce woman.

Artemis watched in horrified rage, as her relatives sprinted down the streets, running for their lives. The sun had set, and their bronze skin and long braids meant they were no longer welcome in the streets--bared for being too primitive to intertwine with the “developed” civilizations. Deidividualized by way of derogatory names and animalistic sounds. They had once ran their daily errands at their own risks, and when the day hashed-out: violence awaited the dilatory. Each partial citizen--was bound by the law of the land...left to return to the far outskirts of time and space. Prisoners of their own home. The reader asked themselves…”why were they running?”. Artemis looked away in frightful exhaustion. She hated the fact that she willingly served a Nation with such an ugly history...it gave credence to the Indigenous Warriors that had accused her of treason. It held the potential to place her; nestled in a box with all of those with tha blessed skin and self-hatred for all that they were. Her pride in culture; overshadowed her need to play pretend in the role of a two-dimensional western woman.

Artemis had no intentions of sitting in a box along Kanye and his gimmick robe stating "White Lives Matter": the provenance of his mid-life crisis was easily confused with self-loathing of ones culture. The unique brand of despise he held for a wife divorced from his reality; had sent the world spinning. Artemis was nowhere near the sort of lunacy of such a pathetic man. He seemed to be only mad at himself-for the fact that his wife left him. How many ancestors had died for him to be a free man?, and all it’d take for him to color himself ungrateful-was the simple-yet-stiff exit of a fed up woman.

Artemis returned to the small town blasting its horns to warn the citizens of the laws in action during a timepiece memory; masked as a dream. “They were allowed to purge the Indigenous Warriors without being persecuted...it was the law; to be lawless.” The reader gasped to themselves, and Artemis said nothing. The sound of a single-tone horn had been the trigger for her depression, as it reminded her--that the citizens had once been cast as fabled monsters; until her mind matured enough to unveil their true faces. “The eyes of the hills”...deformed by way of incest breeding, and whatever their culture condoned. Artemis stood on an overgrown lawn; infested with rattling tails and snarling jaws. Citizens had grown bored with their freedom; waiting to strike out and rape the innocent each morning. They had made a game of it, and Artemis was destined to remind them what they had done to her, and to remaining survivors of her family. Such idol inconveniences were all that had been slowly smudged, and edged out of the pages of the books that held an honest and less-preferred depiction of the past.

She began sprinting down streets unending...a trickling of a ivory keys kept her feet light. Artemis was scavenging the land for inspiration...desperate to find courage, and longing for her suffering to be over. The reader looked indignant, and so Artemis nodded her head and spoke past a fourth wall: “I know, and that’s the problem. This wasn’t that long ago, and even now...your grandparents are fighting for the “right” to use these noise-polluting horns.” The reader said to themselves “well I didn’t know about that.” Their tone was dismissive and aggressive like Artemis’s friend Kari. Many friendships had been broken easily over misplaced assumptions on the impacts of the gore-core provided by a such a segregated past.

Artemis sighed and said “I know, and I’m telling you now...it’s still a thing. Ya’ll really need to get to know your elders better.” The audience seemed sickened with the denial--over whatever their aging loved ones had done in the recent past.

Would they see their grandparents differently...thinking of them rolling their blue trouser cuffs, and the sleeves of their white robes sleeves. Women had tight curls, and modest skirts: finely dressed, and yet--these people had once deliberately stalked and hunted an entire community...until there were so few of them that they had to develop a single boxed-in word to protect them: Race. The word for all that had happened and continued to manifest in her life--was summarized by a single word : Genocide. Artemis wasn’t supposed to exist, her genome was held at the tip of a jaggedly flanked arrow...she was forever guilt-ridden by the ethical debate, as to whether to lean-in, or run away from contributing to a eugenics program. Her body was the only thing that proved the moral compromises the citizens were willing to make to avoid the threat of dismantling their earned comfort. The reader seemed indigent to her knowledge of fairly-recent history, and so Artemis set free a Boar and a plague to purge them of their indifference. They too, would become victims of a apocalyptic timeline...forced to serve eternity: trapped behind a static wall that served as a mirroring shield to a blood-thirsty past.

“I have to go help my sister Athena now, so please figure your shit out before the world writes a new decree--that imprisons you to this cursed land; forever in isolation.” The reader stared at her blankly, and so Artemis left the void of anguish meant to shame her: leaving her ill-fitting linens with them. She returned with a shield to protect her face from the nameless beast that still plagued the land. The reader was so enthusiastic to brag about being a part of the future that they had fallen under a curse of apathy: blinded by the highly-edited past.

The people with red caps and white-font; were only citizens that were raised to believe that they should’ve never desegregated, and now Artemis had visual proof-grains of truth; that their most recent relatives were outright dangerous humans. They had inspired Kyle to “take freedom into his own hands”... cheered on the Boars that hunted citizens for sport, and then audaciously criticized manual laborers for their inability to bend over and take it like a b*tch. The citizens were now left holding their hypothetical dicks in their hands...getting off on the idea that they were being known as the shittiest developed country, despite their flourishing economy. “Go fuck yourselves then.” Artemis had nothing more to say to the masses. She walked off a stage set for a Mechanical Boar, as they waved their gaudy cloths...bragging of their independence and crumbling Government. "I feel like we’ve lived this nightmare before." She had never known true freedom, and it caused her to value the potential of a blooming Democracy: it had evolved since its inception...despite its lack of tangibility, it had accidentally morphed into something that had no chance of leaving the Indigenous Warriors in the past.

The reader was left wondering why she was so angry, so utterly profane in her lyrical throw-down. Artemis had the talent of being distasteful, shameless in her lyrical spells...it came as a defense mechanism. She would smile at a shield, throwing up peaceful gang signs and prancing around gaily in the rainy metropolis she had come to love. Her centricity in thuggery; lacked seditious posture. Artemis awaited a time where authenticity was sought after, needing a time to launch a career in entertainment and education...wanting to avoid being boggled down by a curvet in selective rulings and threats of demonetization. Her ability to bounce with caper delight between kitchens, laboratories, and high-impact athletics were meant to be seen as an admirable contrivance in branding: to be self-cast as an overtly talented. over-qualified, and educated woman.

“Leave me alone man, why don’t you just go fucking ask Mark.” Artemis swatted away at trolls on the daily. The reader looked away...gazing at their shields in understanding, there were risks to smiling directly to the public. A male siren had stolen their faces, their voices and now their privacy--all to earn a few pounds. They sold the soul of their personal information to a strange monstrous man, with a hungry for data and access to each citizens past.

He had tricked them into throwing away their most private memories; he had robbed their private conversations; their endless glowing portraits, and thrown them into a cache of winding data that flowed endlessly--like a river running aimlessly, without the promise of ever meeting an ocean. The strange man had rigged their shields; to activate by the usage of two magic words-one a muted blue, and the other an ombre of sunset colors. He lured them in with familiarity and habit, and used the month of lights and joyful spirits; to change the terms in which they agreed to give him the access to their lives. No click was encrypted, no flash of smile was protected from the technologies holding the secrets of each citizens past.

Even the private parts of their lives, the unshared memories buried deep in their own person archives were being robbed before their eyes. The Siren named Mark...hoarding their contacts, history in travels and personal interests for fun. “He already did it...fucking idiots. I told you. At least my teenage scholars listened.” Artemis knew adults were offended by the comparison between themselves and the youthful...those notorious only for their lack-of-common-sense and their less-developed brains. Little did they care, that the book of faces would eventually be a digital grave; hosting more dead citizens than alive. Their cringe-worthy addictions, and enabling of the wealthy--provided self-explanitory context, for anyone peering with flummox at the technological bearings of the most recent past.

Artemis began sprinting...searching for a beast that could break the spell of Orion and his captor. She found the solution with a smiling friend. Roro had once borrowed her favorite scarf of dark skies and stars: accidentally reminding Artemis--that she should make a wide U-turn in one swift motion. Artemis had repeated this action, holding her head high and impressively swiftly strolling over any cords or wires that served as tripping potential hazards. All of this-was done to grant Artemis the right to unplug herself from a simulation of the sufferer: there was nothing more harrowing than a slain wife, cut down in her prime...a pristine smile frozen forever in the past.

Artemis had landed on a timeline where the substance of crude liquid were prized and protected: an archaic method that would soon be seen as irrelevant and unsustainable to those in the near future. They would still agree that those that slaughtered infants; were worthy of the penalty of death. The tales of such rampant violence would haunt the pages of history. How could such trauma...such harrowing suffering be capitulated as the norm? They were forever to be left rooted to such evils of the past.

Roro knew Artemis, more than she knew herself--the baby had once showered her with empathetic hugs and frantic patting upon a bowed crown. The worry on the face of an toddler, had been more than enough to pontificate the urgency the world had always projected upon Artemis. She was enough. At least to that person; the beautiful, small person--had pleaded for Artemis to hang in there, to embrace her with a hug. She needed Artemis to move past the ailments of a broken heart and shattered spirit; to spite the trapping moments of remaining chained to an unchangeable past.

The young child had caught Artemis--staring at the ocean throughout the day: deciding her first task in life was to anchor Artemis to reality by way of wide smiles, and the sweet gesture of trustfully reaching upward; without a moment of hesitation. Artemis nodded: apologetic for having glared down at whatever had touched the least favorite part of her body. A spur in the lumbar kept her grumpy, grumbling, but always able to hangout with Roro. Artemis was overwhelmed by their friendship, encouraged by a poster child, holding up a single wee fist: “I can do this.” A random baby had said so, and Artemis was only given the option to try. A soft grunt with a slight confirmation...was all the dynamic duo had needed to change the world. One day, Artemis was forced to leave her friends side--realizing that the curse of a hunched spine made her mother Lisa; sickened with worry. Their paths were destined to cross again, as Artemis knew Roro was meant for un-achieved greatness under a Blue Shield of Hope. Time could never deter the friendship between Artemis and the youthful friend she had nicknamed as "woman".

The reader seemed confused: “isn’t she just a baby?” Artemis shrugged: “my People set our children up for success and failures from birth...and we’re finally citizens to this great land, so why wouldn’t Roro aim for the stars?” That poor baby, had been thrown into a den where it was necessary for her to adapt and be hyper-aware of her surroundings at all times. She’d written a story meant to be read by her mother, a tallish lady...known for her gallant Red Steers. Their falling-out--was proof that mental illness could rip away the most loyal of friends. There were no words to be shared between a woman half-alive, and a hypochondriac. Sometimes it was wisest to outgrow friendships that were harmful, leaving them unresolved, and without need for confrontation...accepting that they’re best suited to be surrendered to the past.

Athena asked herself “what does this have to do with me?”--as the narcissist often does. Artemis shrugged and said nothing. She thought the two ladies would get along well. if Artemis was proven right within her pedantic paranoid scope of the future. Roro would be the only human to understand Artemis and her love of dramatic flair...she would raise her hand and cover her mouth as if to say with an irreducible tone...O. My. Gosh. The astonishment of a sassy toddler making the suggestion of disbelief to a bedtime story; of their Warriors--fleeing ones town to survive the night. Provincial in her silent suggestions, and a droll laced smile; Artemis often gave Roro the same warm smiles that had been rejected by her niece Mama Bear. Artemis was adored by a stranger, and given a nod in disagreement to a story filled with no-no’s. Artemis would always miss the less-verbal profundity found in the company of Roro, as well as her nieces and nephews. They were pivotal to expanding her heart, and extended the strata in which she sought decent company. There was little comfort for those born leaders, let alone for that of a single, childless woman.

Artemis found it funny to watch Athena be agitated by the familiar dictum found upon her children. Auntie could be seen on any given day; each niece or nephew burrowed her love in gestures and mannerisms. Meant only to piss of a narcissists, evidently. Jr would crinkle his nose in concentration, and Mama Bear would giggle in confusion to things beyond her control, Damian would always be the first to argue his point, and each were apologetic in an outset-her hurtful indifference hardwired into their personalities. Her need to find something wrong within everything; had meant that Artemis was left with on the option to prepare a place of safe haven for their collective positivism to flourish. Athena was left to her vice, forever wallowing in the past.

Athena was not impressed, she could care less about a younger siblings ability to remain on the fringes of the qui vive in parenting skills. She glared at her pages, and sighed in disagreement. These were traits that Athena had ignored out of annoyance with genial patriotism, but could serve as sacrament treasure once Artemis was gone. The reader asked Artemis: “where did you go?”, and Artemis shrugged--as if to drape a small hand upon the broad shoulder of Athena: “I’m not sure what’s next, but I’ll make sure to tell your mother hi!” Athena seemed bewildered, as to why her grandmother wouldn’t be present in the aforementioned afterlife: unable to find the river of fair judgement. Artemis was left painting a room with a quiet jury, and a silent judge; ready to hear a story unfit for children.

Artemis was given the chance to culminate a polished image, zipping a leather skirt and fashioning a row of buttons. She had wasted her entire life: attempting to be the image others had of her. There would be no reason to insist on being the focal point of the setting, no reason to plaster a grin over her insecure face, but it felt necessary; to describe the scene with graceful continuity. Artemis pointed to a door with a suggestive welcoming, needing the person guarding the door to bring in a prisoner by the name of Gloria. "My Grandma is literally the worst type of person. The world is better off with her version of mothering dead in a grave". The deceased soul was left wandering in a state of purgatory--until the death of her grandchildren came to sanctify her from the recent past.

The woman was forever in a state greying, aging without grace or self-awareness...unable to be enthralled with the fashion choice of dawning a single-pieced outfit made in an orange cloth. Unwilling to step out from the pages, if it meant Artemis was able to paint a proper picture as to who she was to the world. The woman had shackles around her feet and hands that were riddled with static, trauma falling with a thud under each shuffling flat-footed step, as she moseyed behind a table to face a Jury. Artemis waited no time in introducing a jury to the legacy of her seeded woes. “At what year did you first sell your children for bottles of poison?” The woman said nothing. “Are you aware that it is illegal for a citizen to traffic another human for profit?” The woman was a defiant claimant: gazing around the room, bored of Artemis and her endless questions. She had wished upon the skies and heavens, and plead for a granddaughter with unwavering loyalty. Artemis had wanted to prove her loyalty in protecting society fro themselves, and to prove that one...was never truly free from the unjust persecution of their past.

“Did you ever accuse your grandchildren of being runaways?” The stout woman began to grow in her upset-ness, pissed off by the accusatory rubric...in a lot of ways, she was a lot like Dianne: deleterious in her lack of accountability. Artemis turned to the jury: “this cold-ass woman only shook the hands of her grandchildren, under the excuse of abuse being common in the family...she blatantly chose to adhere to backwards social norms.” The woman had single-handedly put Artemis in harm’s way, discarding her like a criminal; for having the audacity to say that she had earned the right to attend a school function in a forgotten past.

Artemis had walked off, wanting the fucking bare-minimum out of her youth: longing to practice, and better harness skills in wielding an orange ball. Primarily; she just wanted to be left the fuck alone. Just like Dianne...Gloria believed that her own “lack of childhood”...meant that nobody in her life deserved a childhood. It wouldn’t be fair. Artemis had wandered the street instead of admitting guilt, carrying her belongings in black bags and holding back the building tears. She blindly believed in her own work ethic and love of competition; deciding to make her own luck in an instant, and knowing the next day would bring a better future--but only with a refusal to bow out from the gridlocked argument this one time. She had been right, the inwardness of a child longing for love, had led Artemis into the darkened and unpredictable direction of the Kind-Hearted Hunters. Artemis was inadvertently rewarded for her might in demanded a life; where people were unwilling to accept her place in the world as a human. She was no longer to be a victim chained to her orphaned past.

The jury said nothing, Gloria was escorted out, a criminal left to face a melange of dramatic orchestras and a torture-filled judgement in the afterlife. Artemis left the woman sitting in the darkness, reliving a memorial with limited attendees; a place were Gloria was surrounded by strangers, left to the verdict of those she’d have easily looked down upon. Gloria was without a culture to hide behind. Her medicine was bad in life, and its long-term effects tarnished the world in her death: their family legacy was undefended by way of time. To pity her, would be equivocal to pitying a privileged Ghislaine. There were certain felonious discrepancies that even Artemis refused to look past.

Artemis escorted the criminal from her courtroom, dusting off her crisp outfit in boredom. She looked up from her piles if paper; only after Gloria was out of sight...pacing back and forth, as she expressed a delayed point to the Jury. “My family”, has overcome a lot: instead of learning from the past, many of the women--chose to remain stagnant in their development...unable to evolve their methods of parenting. She had wanted to prove Dianne guilty...by adding to the cumulative point in which those in her family; chose to further the weighted blame the world deserved for the things they refused to change. Artemis needed them to see how their families weren’t so different from one another...despite whatever her culture declared to be true or right. Her immediate family was trash. “The only thing that woman ever gave me, was a name that tied me to the land. Fuck that bitch.” Artemis had a unique was of disassociating from her families shitty past.

Artemis was tired of women that hated children, sick of the dulling "cool chicks"; unlike those that had given birth to Asiah and Caylee...she was bored of the neverending parties. She had dreams of watching them lactate, as they danced on tables and drank poison: matronly, sloppy, and useless all around. Supplicant were such succubi, left to rot in a prison that drifted opposite of the sun. In dreams of civil duties and intergalactic travels: Artemis manged to remain grumpy even in such exciting dreams, for she was always depicted as nothing more than an underpaid, overqualified woman.

Athena began to smile, murmuring beneath floor-set eyes...“calm down.” Artemis threw her arms in the air: “no. I am beyond angry, why is that lady the worst-type of person...I fucking hated her by the end of each of our visits, and I only tolerated her because I believed creating that family dynamic would help Dianne develop some sort of sense of normalcy.” Artemis hated wasted time. Athena rolled her eyes, unable to appear clement with a worked-up; hiding her amusement with a younger siblings endless rage towards strangers. The lingering disappointment allowed Artemis to interrupt her eldest sister’s boredom: “No, she’s a fucking criminal that trafficked her own children...that is the epitome of the worst type of woman.”

She flipped over a table standing in front of Athena, growling at the fact her genome was beyond fucked up, and that somehow Artemis was left paying the full price, for all the stupid things they had done. Artemis stood over the chaotic scene: panting with exhaustion, staring at the mess she had made upon the floor of the courtroom. It gave her mild relief; to think of Athena being amused by Mama Bear in character--trashing a desk to fulfill shameless directions set in stone...many moons ago. Such simple tact, was the purposeful integration of manageable anger; a ploy being offered to bring small comfort to the lives of those left mourning. The scene had made for a fun activity to be enacted by a niece silently suffering alone; possibly bringing a way to console an unenthusiastic, lost woman.

She appreciated that the jury had allowed Mama Bear to harness and wield a dramatic scenario that’d break Athena’s curse of boredom. “Crap, now I have to fix this mess. My bad.” Artemis would tuck stry hairs behind her ear, pretending a scene had healed her wandering emotions. She began to slowly pick up papers strewn all over the floor, and tucking in plugs and cords into their proper outlets in silence. Artemis had taught her young scholars the value of destruction, reminding them that property could always be replaced; but human life was invaluable. Artemis knew the trial would change the face of Justice; not because of the "twists and turns", but because of the army that assembled to gaze upon her for the last time. Nothing could undo the mortifying sight of her laying sprawled and hunted, confused as to what caused her to slain, abandoned and left as "unknown woman".

Artemis felt Tammy stand beside her at last: the woman had been summoned by a friend Artemis had yet to meet. "She told me to just hit Dianne, and then I did. I’m a monster". The echoes of child abuse clashed in every harsh sound, every peaceful moment. Nobody would ever take accountability for the ugly things a horrific stranger had committed. Artemis sat in a hallway, ready to take whatever swings of insecure and misguided judgement Dianne had in store. She entered the door at the end of a hallway, knowing the last time Dianne had entered the closet-she was unable to hide her Burke-like smirk, flabbergasted that Artemis had survived a feeble attempt of smothering while playing hid-and-go-seek. Artemis took a page of saftey percautions from a book she had crafted, needing to secure a future where a sibling would be placed on trial and chained to a woman named Hera. A golden paintbrush drippin with blood-colored paint; was all it’d take to prove that such monsters had ruled her worth of only the penalty of death at the age of six. Neither would be surprised by the death of an already condemned woman.

Artemis turned away from the set whizzing by, and asked Tammy to leave a cold courtroom; if only to say "Hey Scott." She held deep admiration for a pale man that claimed to be a loser--a strange fellow that had a thick accent...famous for his skills in soothing the people with tales of death. Artemis liked his non-threatening approach to such gore, admiring his ability to call criminals by funny names, and taking their actions too personally. The reader asked who such a higly anticipated guest was, and she told them of how he had once been mauled by a dog named Felix. A brave man that held passionate recall of the loss of his wiener dog named Doogie in fine details. He was the only man that could understand Artemis and her rage in bored tones, and exhaustion for monsters and the enabling of beastly people. Both were armed with personal judgements and saterical outlooks on the recent past.

Tammy collected Artemis in a swift swoop; she felt a warm sense of letting go...maybe this was intentional enough to sway a Jury: “It’s time to go now.” Artemis looked around the courtroom that had been assembled just for her, and cautiously staring at a guilty-looking Athena. Tammy placed her hand upon a slumped shoulder. “I wish I had more time: I’m a little scared as to what this all means...and I don’t know how to help anymore.” Artemis had soft tears falling down her face: "I really miss my big sister, she was a real good sister". Artemis cried, feeling guilt in turning herself to stone for years at a time. “What happens if I forgot something, or I left something out?!...what happens if all of this--just isn’t enough?! Our sister needs help, and I’m not there to remind her of how much I tried to love her.” Artemis was ashamed of the limitations set in the efforts given, because she had ran away at the first indicator of danger looming. "You’re not allowed to make Dianne angry; our old gaurdian made a lot of jokes, as to how she didn’t want to be around on the day Dianne finally "snapped"." Her worry was valid, having reflected upon Dianne’s worsening condition of psychopathy, and chosing to abandon a bored housewife. Both women had ill-intent without her present; as one woman often blamed Artemis for bringing out worst of Diannes’ personality. There were no longer any excuses left to be given: no recourse or preperation addecate for such a violent woman.

Athena said nothing. She stared blankly at the floor, knowing that nothing mattered anymore--niether of those women would be given the same ridicule as an unwed mother of four. Artemis desperately wanted to throw herself over her sisters slouched shoulders for one last hug. Athena was a lot of things, but a murderer--wasn’t one of those things. "Take my love, suckaaaa." She was stringent with her replies, direct and defensive in her need to bring an end uncomfortable postions, whereas Dianne was protected by an armor of reductio ad absurdum, and a haunting foreshadowing of malice. One was capible of commiting a homicide, and the other was just a traumatized woman.

Artemis tilted her head down and waited for Athena to kiss her forehead goodbye. Such a simple gesture, could prove that Athena felt something other than seething rage. It could prove that Athena lived in the reality of the situation. Forehead and temple kisses from Athena had been a core memory she wished to share with a Jury, as a token of peace. “I can’t stop crying, why is this happening to us?! What happens if I can’t protect my family now that I’m gone?” Artemis had been so proud to have crafted a small family that was gentle and loving, enough to where her talents began to create a larger nest to hold their potential. Artemis had finally been told by the universe that she had done enough: deserved restful sleep, proper nutrition and a moment free from the worry of being assassinated by an unwell woman.

Athena was unaware of her siblings talents in predictory entertainment. Unsure of how wealth had been sustained, but aware it had been assembled to nestle and help raise Athena’s own children--by way of assumption in duty. “I am going to miss you so much sister...I’m really going to miss trying to make you laugh.” Artemis had often dipped herself in the hood, using fun antics like “hey girl..heyyy”...to throw-off her moody sister, as she entered a room glaring, casting a stage for no reason. Artemis was forever childish, immature, and overtly dramatic in comparison to such a stone-faced woman.

“It’s time to go. If she’s ready to talk and answer my questions, everything will be alright.” Artemis peered at Athena and sniffled up tears, “the test is meant to trap our sister...she doesn’t know the results aren’t admissible in the Court of Law. Tammy is one of the best at her job--and the entire field of expertise, so if you need "your Chris" by your side to this...I know she’d be happy to help. We just want what’s best for you, ok?” Artemis felt her voice waning into a whisper, Tammy now held a series of scarse papers and Athena held a chipper homie drooling and bouncing up and down. Artemis sent a parting baby to bring comfort to a situation without resolve, if only to prove Athena was a capable, trustworthy woman.

There was technically nothing that could prepare Tammy for all that was Dianne and her overbearing personality, so it was just best to take the offense. Artemis handed off her child to Athena temporarily, needing to show the Jury of her trust in a citizen that was properly medicated and nurtured with talk therapy. "Your life matters to me." Artemis had no problem leaving her own children in the hands of a woman that casually “hulk-ed out” when intoxicated by way of poison, but not as a guardian. Fruition of this poem; would mean that Artemis was pulling out the big artillery, and that Dianne had been successful in hedging her bets up until now. Athena could help prove her own innocence, joining in Artemis’s stratagem, and casting a secondary point, that was meant to locate an unscathed and yet-to-be implicated woman.

Artemis arrived in the brink of a moment: stolen back to the house of horrors belonging to the dreams of Burke. She was anxious, pressed along the wall in trepidation...he seemed blinded by violent-delights, carrying a metal sporting device as he slept walked. He caught her leaning with her stomach to the wall, jaunty in spirits, whistling and taking a swift change in smile to show off a bizarre grin. He was pointing at her spine, as though he were aiming at a pitcher and standing over a diamond mound. Such a sportsman as such, could be predicated or expected. Her sarcasm was lost on his scenario in being born the son of a once-wealthy conman. His punctuation and expressions left her creeped out and uneased by his mere presence, but that was due to the feeling his twitching smile left her with...just as an observing woman.

His metal swung, and fell heavily along her back side with a loud crack. These were the moments where medical professionals stood up out of instinct, and prepared their emergency medical training for a high-impact injury. Artemis collapsed to the floor and began yelling “fuck!”. Artemis came out of a spell of shock, being dragged along checkered tiles; by a man claiming to miss "playing with" his gold-haired sister. Her mouth was filled with air, unable to form the muscle posture to warn Scott of a rouge child. Artemis felt her eyes blinking rapidly, needing a focal to bring her into a moment of battle. The next thing she heard, was a familiar crack along a lumbar region. The released wail was one of true agony, the howling thud found only with the action of bones being crushed and shattered. Artemis was unable to announce the strange presence of Burke looking for his sibling in time. Scott was able to move past the moment via adrenaline, and he grabbed the metal piece from the giddy hands of a child hunting his cheap thrills. “This little psycho….calm down Schmeeda!” The boy didn’t like when men stepped to him with authority, and so he scrambled back to his couch and drew a concerned face, as he began asking for his mum in a childish voice. Dust was left disheveled by his grotesque withdrawn footprints that pinned his knees to his chest. Artemis wasn’t able to care as he scratched up the cotton stuffed arms and leaked tufts; the world had bent over backward to protect this rage from be disturbed by an unruly child. His fabricated affect was indicative of a criminal stuck in the past.

This was too much action for someone that had only stood in two separate places within moments. Her mind was racing, her thoughts entrenched by the blurry outline of checkered flooring and the white-toed sneakers that appeared to be dragging themselves. This was the bad place. The Ok place-- at best. Such simple inner-monologe, was all that was left for her comprehend and appreciate. At least Artemis was surrounded by good company, grasping to the southern drawl of a man holding antiquated worry that downplayed the severity of whatever the fuck they had just survived. There were plenty issues at hand in the moment, so their introduction was something they had just accepted and moved past.

Artemis swung her low-hanging head in the direction of a beast in a white wife-beater, pontificating with a stranger and casually choking his adversary out mid-congregation. That poor wife, never stood a chance with Cindy giving out permission and forgiveness like a blowjob on a friday. Artemis felt catastrophic worry, glancing over at Orion; a husband pinned to the wall by a wormy husband. The two men were very different people. One a selfish husband, and the other a loser, possibly famed for slaughtering his entire family for some gross strange-strange. Her ally in battle wore a dark-colored billed hat, his charisma and love of tale had allowed him to jump into a simulation filled with strangers he was tasked to assist. Artemis wondered if he too--had blindly volunteered to beta test a paradoxical game known only by name and lore: Polybius. They were stuck in the middle of a loop in time, where they were frozen mid-scene...the missing gameplay that had yet to be scripted. Nothing could be more terrifying than a life of immortality, a life toppling over with time and the inability to change a dimension that set the table of denial; feasting on the delivery of their own past.

Artemis had known his voice for lifetimes over, laughing at slight snippets of many lives...draping her limp body over his shoulder. He carried her like a bad of spuds, and Artemis bat her lashes like a Princess to fit the role. The kind stranger looked over at the scene of the two men with static-filled eyes and began to smile at the sight of a familar face: “hey Chrissey-poo”...Artemis had loved how the comedian called the monster by such a non-threatening name. It felt good to diminish the horrific anger the man held within his grasps. The beast turned to stare down the patronizing bystander. He was without intimidation of an injured couple hanging from one another, and dragging their feet weakly upon the tile. There was nothing for him to gain by breaking his soft choke-hold on Orion, and so he turtled to bring in a tight first position: holding others--more accountable than those he had gifted with instant death. Chrissey-poo had fulfilled his destiny; claimed his fate willingly--superseding his father in fame finally...crowned rightfully, as the eradicator of children. A game of fate and predictability had landed a "loving husband", imprisoned to a simulation made to mirror the actions of the past.

Artemis cleared her throat as they slowly passed by: “Did you let a stranger kill your children?” Her friend looked over in mild surprise, and glanced back at Tammy, sitting patiently behind a desk and monitoring their words and responses--only the guilty offered spikes from their baselines. “She was on top of her”... the widowed husband holding stranger captive; began to crank back and forth and grab at his elbows for comfort. The stark shifting came across as though it were computing an error. His nose flicked upward, stiffening along his shoulders and enunciating his words until he were almost announcing a sporting event. “Like...Like...I didn’t know what to do.” Artemis had found a shred of the truth--hidden between the static of his many, many lies. Tammy gestured with a hand a circular motion, either to suggest the hunger for soup with enthusiasm, or attempting to redirect Artemis to continue on with her fake interrogation. “Did you let a stranger kill your children?”... the man seemed unsure of how to answer a question he had already heard, and somewhat afraid of something that stood outside of the front door of their fragmented house. There weren’t enough qualifiers in the world--to pull the man out from the massive hole he had dug himself: it was disrespectfully deeper than the lazy one he had frantically dug for his slain wife in the aforementioned past.

Next Chapter: [ LXII ] Artemis and the House of Games