Artemis stood up sluggishly from beneath weeping trees, the barrings of which seemed to slip away from grasp with each trial--the willow bending of a stubborn bow was no match for the brisk winds of the morning. Everything was stiffened with pain, down to a trembling hand...attempting to gather direction in a directionless life. Something felt deeply off in the world. She headed east on foot; to aid the helpless and moderately useless--the citizens had looked away at men rubbing gums and snuffing fingers; their podiums towering over the citizens that had once elected them into power. The notion that addicts and pedophiles were in charge of society had said a lot about the contemporary issues and standard of leadership when imposed upon all of mankind.

A docile Mechanical Boar rose to his wee hooves--he stood arrogant and pigeon-toed, cowering over crooked paths and snorting at each pillared stop. Artemis scanned a medical check on the elderly beast--a drooping smile was not a good indicator of health, but he would refuse treatment and shallow concerns by a woman too exhausted to care about an aging beast. Artemis looked the patient up and down stopping herself with widening eyes after bluntly gazing downward at swollen and bruised feet..."yoooo, holy shit." The stubs were not holding up to the trek....his heart was being taxed with each step, and it wasn’t done by the citizens questions; no bidding for excuses was given to an overweight elder zig-zagging along--gorging and grazing as he pleased. No day was without feast, as was the only trick Artemis needed to keep the beast preoccupied and dragging his feet on a path of mortality...in doing so a window of health had closed--slamming shut on a fate filled with glorious opportunity.

Artemis almost felt sorry for her bounty...for the his trials in being an ugly-lookin-mother-fucker; dawning the face of a stern woman on the regular. She often held an East coast accent in boredom...telling the beast through smacking jaws that he "looked just like his motha". All he had to do, was ask for a rest, to admit weakness along a path of destruction--but such defeat would mean...a man in tan suit were more agile than the entirety of his administration of losers; himself included. Both a man in a suit, and women like Artemis were triggering for the Mechanical Boar--his assumptions in her voting choices had been a shield to serve a purpose; to prove the depth of corruption and hatred cast by citizens...eager to destroy, yearning to hurt others...readying their pitched forks and oversized spoons at any chance. Something was festering behind the Mechanical Boars cataracts--an unhinged threat aimed forever at the citizens. A group of sick elders had manifest chaos, with their disgust for all things youthful and blessed with time. A dimension of short-sided mortality was crafted by the Gods themselves...to prove the escalation of a certain group of individuals, horny to destroy Democracy--to halt all forms of progression, if it meant no one succeeded in places where they had already failed. Beady-eyes and clenched teeth grew in droves, an elderly army shaking in rage--their calcium deficient bones rattling and clanking in the silence meant for yelling. An entire generation of silent observers had came before Artemis and her clan of unserious citizens--refusing to bow or cower at the slightest inconvenience; unfettered by the uneducated freaks that had tainted an entire timeline...leaving Artemis to her books for once. She had other plans on how to privately address the more reasonable and accommodating parts of mankind.

They walked past his unsteady tent that suggested circus were in town--the promise of a daughters smile corrosive when delivered by another female’s smile had kept the beast locked in Artemis’s trance. She walked for days on end: reflecting on her last conversation with the Kind-Hearted Hunters--she thought over, and overthought the many conjoining issues that each of her battles had in common. What was she missing? The Kind-Hearted Hunters agreed that words of steel should be kept to smaller circles at first; if it meant proper footing produced the result of a bounty being delivered successfully...Artemis had concerns that one arrow would need to be enough to end it all--a massive willow bow had become heavier by the day. There had been no one to report to, no authentic persons to dismantle domestic terrorism...the value of such observations would double the value of each page--to be the lone wanderer...forced to disengage on the daily. There was an immense toll on her body--to turn a cheek and offer up the time for further insults to her intelligence. The world claimed to want a fair and impartial leader, but knew nothing of what they spoke. Campaigns and buy-outs had stunted the impartiality of a Senate and Congress: the citizens were on their own...unaware a rigged election lay on the horizon--their grandparents setting flames to their own yards for the sake of funzies...snickering and jeering, as they destroyed anything nice as punishment. The era of blind-loyalty had turned them into rats, worms, thieves and the pedophiles standing separate from the bands of elders...their evil youthful--forever on the hunt for children or clawing away at tax-funded resources. This was to be the entire legacy inherited in wills and testimony set into motion, their homes filled with precious property; hoarded as proof of status. There wasn’t a straight path to success, and the obstacles of elders causing havoc and harm--with the added layer of accountability flailing uselessly in the wind...a thread that went nowhere, and giving Artemis endless inspiration to paint a portrait of fair-opportunity.

Artemis continued marching and admired the many Christmas decorations that the villages displayed as she passed their adorned festivities in yearly laps--she stopped by in a pointed house, only to witness a woman named Patsy...scrambling about in a kitchen drawer for a writing utensil. Hissing to nobody as he sat curled up on a leather loveseat "do you have any idea what you’ve done?!"--a small boys voice replying that his sister was dead, and he knew. He knew what he had done; a deviant adult smile splaying across a childish face. Artemis excused herself from a home built on silent dysfunction, concentrating on black and white checkered paths--stumbling next into a town home splashed with gaudy opulence. A grown woman approached cautiously; exclaiming to be missing a father that had vanished into thin air. Artemis felt the mystery churning in a starving gut; asking only of the last place in which the daughter had witnessed his presence--guided up flights of stairs until turning about face...standing still as a stone; staring indirectly at a childhood bed at her left. Discomfort filled the air. The chance to unburden traumas had been wrapped in a moment of strange lingering stale emptiness...a single sad smile would be memorialized for the world to witness, and Artemis had taken it upon herself to dissect every centimeter of a colorful children’s room...seeking the answers to the mysteries of life, based solely on the foot block of the continual ebb and flow of mistreatment towards children, as a fair-response to a harsh judgement towards all of mankind.

Artemis excused herself; claiming to have lead...politely exiting the creepy stacked home and leaned against a nearby tree to vomit. No amount of forewarning took consultation to be less-traumatizing than the things unsaid from a stolen childhood. The disruption to her moods came from sipping away at the endless basin of knowledge provided by Golden Fleece--debriefing up on the subject known as the Daughter of King Minos, and brewing Yerba leafs for the next day. The image of grown woman stranded in discomfort, as she gave showcase of a bed leaking of gold paint--provided little comfort: if a victim was unwilling or unprepared to face such a door--painted potentially red with the spilled blood of innocence. Artemis held up a book of visual art, placing a loaded weapon in the hands of moderators--archiving page-by-page in a tizzy; needing to move all responsibility upon those claiming their powers were stronger, more at value with common decency than hers. Artemis began laughing hysterically...tacking a piece of printed art to the wall like a scientific study--holding stern lecture, as she read the words to disrupt the illusions cast over the less-moral citizens, taking heed in their suffering and providing truth with a single opportunity.

"(Voice over:)"

There must be more to life than having everything...

Donald

yes there is, but I won’t tell you what it is...

Jeffrey

Nor will I, since I also know what it is

Donald

We have certain things in common, Jeffrey

Jeffrey

Yes we do, come to think of it

Donald

Enigmas never age, have you noticed that?

Jeffrey

As a matter of a fact, it is clear to me the last time I saw you.

Donald

A pal is a wonderful thing. Happy Birthday--and may everyday

be another wonderful secret.

Artemis handed off a shitty poem--turning to lightly pass it on, and slipping on an unknown substance mid-pivot: the angers of falling and cursing was meant to trigger a simulation of trauma--where shame was found in the most monotonous of accidents. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" Artemis remained on all fours; gagging as she wrestled to stand up--the smell of warm semen filling a room like a haze...only managing to see pudgy hand squiggling in giddy delight over a single signature upon a wooden desk, its cursed paper leaking with slimy ejaculatory substances; a single-page crumpled in the shaking hands of a golden-haired daughter for safe-keeping. A shlumping father held an eager quill--doodling a prepubescent outline of his favorite daughter, as he snickered and scratched a finalizing signature in its pubic range. The tailoring of which would seal his fate: providing Artemis with the ammunition needed for her to hold a golden bow and aiming it at the citizens in a confused rage--she needed space to think. Artemis could be seen holding a piece of paper up with a flame beneath its edges, telling entire armies to stand down--threatening the paper collateral for entry into a striped tent: a token of worry for them to digest, as she attempted to seek answers for questions too horrific to ask upfront. There was no escaping a nightmare with no-end; no proper solution for a justly stolen, or colonized opportunity.

Artemis instinctively wanted to casually punch the Daughter of King Minos in the face: if only to get her to stop spewing the commercialized scripts of excuses and future plans of her father. One day--Artemis’s anger fell away; and was replaced with pity...remorse for stern judgements towards a woman; trapped bedside to the secrets kept near and dear...out of reasons of sheer discomfort to what she had witnessed or survived. The entire clan were to be indicted for the errors of the Mechanical Boar and his relations of compromising blackmail from a leering Cyclops: the price of which was painted with a synthetic gold...rebranded as equal-opportunity.

An adversarial power had imposed a term of anguish to freedom itself-- Active Measures had already been taken and destroyed the Republic from within...long before Artemis had reached young adulthood. The unwanted woman remained complicit in her own ways, the act of looking away in a moment of curiosity had given the mere second needed...for a signature of doom to be enacted: she left an office holding the image of a fortune loving father...weeping silently while reading columns addressing the sub-par fashion designer in ink. Nepotism didn’t hold much value outside of rooms filled with shrill truths--on designer pathways or public offices; but reality didn’t always mix well with hand-outs and parent-provided opportunity.

Nothing could disparage the out-of-touch woman; chained to a pink bedroom most days. She seemed entitled to inherit a Democratic throne, as predecessor to the Chief in Command by way of favoritism and bratty intrigue. She had protected herself with a smile and nod--marrying a scarecrow to appease the public opinions that could care less...her absent father casually dismantling an entire government in the background of a room painted with sad silence--whisked away "on official business" a majority of land-marked occasions, giddy to violate women and children stranded on an island or bound to a narrow house. Artemis had only wished to provide just enough room for the truth to flourish, and to gather information on a Mechanical Boar: unaware of the depth-of-rot provided over the innocent soils with each step of the overweight beast...grunting and squealing, as he mounted anything with holes--their consent revoked as rewarded opportunity.

Artemis had named the Mechanical Boar: King Minos...to gain entry into a tent stripped with red and white objections. The creep was proving to be a royal pain-in-the-ass to Artemis, and she began dreading encountering anyone affiliated with the beast and his backwards ass views: mostly of all his deranged children, since they were under the deepest of spells. As she stood in front of the tall woman called the Daughter of King Minos: the doll-like woman began to market Artemis with empty words, addressing her with familiarity, as though she wasn’t busy emptying out the contents of an upset stomach curbside, and ensured the distracted party...that her father was fully in control of the land, and that she too...were peeved by a few actions taken up with the royal placement of the heavily-scrutinized opportunity.

Artemis noticed that the immature woman seemed uncaring to a fault; holding a pressed conference where she spewed unrelated issues as distractions, spinning lies for fun...unaware that she were half-mechanical by nature and nurture herself; clownish without worry to the blazing flames racing towards an occupied tent. The pending fire hazard was of no concern...when a father had the funds to evacuate hers and hers only if worst came to worst. When Artemis asked for entry of the tent that stood whimsically and posed great danger to all those inside: the woman finally fell silent...having realized that her ability to hit key-words in tone were unimpressive to the audience of one, suddenly bored by the audience granted by her golden list of opportunity.

There was no need to even attempt to sell Artemis her bullshit, and instead the woman took up a painting brush...throwing a teenage fit and stomping back upstairs; pouting as she began to paint everything in her sight--slopped furniture with a coat of false gold, gathered from the puddle held upon the surface of a silk duvet. Artemis said nothing...a sense of relief came from the threads of time breaking away, a puddle of cheap gold raining from the sky and casting into golden showers...luring a a vicious predator from the darkness...a conflicted daughter frantically painting vigorously in a “secret”panic. The whole lot of them were idiots, and or fucking freaks...there seemed to be no in-between. Artemis didn’t have time for this shit, and so she turned to the doll-like husband and asked him of which plans were dedicated for a fleeing family once the tent capsized, and moreover...if he looked forward to spending the rest of his privileged life...behind bars: for theft from the citizens, and or the minor crimes of consenting to being painted as complicit; in the prized moments garnered from their golden opportunity.

Artemis reminded the hollow-voiced husband...specifically of the multiple quotes given by his loving wife to the general public: boasting of being complicit, and to this...he signed off on her growing rap-sheet of visibly punishable crimes. Fate had churned the hands of favor in their direction day-over-day, but nothing felt like enough to the empty couple; just as the citizens had...each time the held purging smiles and clenched grins whenever Artemis walked by. They took Artemis to be an ingrate, a moron or fool--whereas, she was left to sharpen tools in night...casting ill-wishes on the citizens that had ruined a scientific experiment out of dullness and boredom to their very average and empty lives--casting doubt that she may see the falsehoods of mankind.

She leaned over to whisper a single warning to the outcast in-law...holding in laughter while mentioning in a serious tone--"I know...everything", a jarring sound falling past an unconcerned smile. Artemis had once suffered from deafness in the left ear--the causation of a orange leather sphere meeting the side of her face...a teammate laughing the hardest, despite the lack of formality in respect of calling out a name or play. The disruption of movement sloshing in an ear--had forced Artemis to learn how to read lips in a frantic year...upon being told the issue may remain permanent by a medical professional. It was easier for Artemis to play stupid, to mind her own...inverting anguish with each encounter where citizens made jokes about Artemis being too "retarded", or "stupid" to reach for a Golden Apple provided by a man that had yet to set foot on stage. Her rage was kept for pages dripping over with the greed of the citizens...inked for eternity to express their need to squat and claim part of her victory; unaware they’d be cursed to be reborn to repent for such sins in vanity...plebeians holding the same faces--begging for salvation in the Temple of Athena. Their faces were so unmemorable to Artemis, sans pretentious smiles and hushed tones...cached into memory for future and historical karma-laced opportunity.

The doll-like husband opened his mouth to speak, and Artemis caught herself making faces at how minute and diminished an odd voice fell--in comparison to his average looking body. She felt demoralized by this unappealing voice and then caved into a spell of hopeless by the entirety of the situation--Artemis allowed herself to pass judgement: that the couple had been officially deemed sketchy as a pair--creepy in their own unique and haunted ways. She had taken notice that people were afraid of whatever capabilities of violence bubbled up beneath timid hands; her fears of failure and eviction were greater than any violence brought up in imagination or nightmares. Artemis was reminded of their innate rush to judgement of her--having spoken to a human resource persons that needed two larger people as witness and backup to her concerns in reduced hours and dismantled medical insurance. Artemis was upset that strangers had set her up for failure, once again...moving blame from here to there (claiming to unemployment services that she had been unwilling or unable to work...when in all reality they had personally sent her information across state lines), pretending as though their lack of professionalism or laziness would pay her monthly expenses--when she so often had woken up hungry for success; proud to pass as an able-bodied citizen most days. For whatever reason, she was eagerly painted as a perpetrator-of-aggression; condemned for pointing out inconsistencies and wavering standards that were afforded to anyone-and-everyone else--on her bullshit quest to be a normal citizen...paying for a modest livelihood that were comfortable enough, but often discouraged from succeeding in every other professional opportunity.

Artemis knew the spoiled childish man couldn’t relate to a hard day of work, let alone to a poem of a single woman...wandering through the darkness alone and unprotected from the evils of the world. She gave him props on finding a golden meal ticket--unable to make a connection of passion between to business partners having sex and eventually falling suit into a vanilla marriage. Their love-story would be grand, uninterrupted, polished even--their chattering too-loud to hear words of warning...when Artemis attempted to verbalize the severity of crimes committed while they leveraged stolen opportunity.

The educated doll-like man who had married the Daughter of King Minos-- seemed to have a better grasp of reality: in comparison to the rest of the family, his knuckles white from reigning in a wife’s callous words. A mumbled conversation gave Artemis relief in the idea that there may be almost one sensible person in the famed house painted white. Artemis asked how his many, many…many tasks were coming along, as he had been hand-selected by the Mechanical Boar; to solve a multitude of world problems by himself. She began to laugh without restraint, watching the fumbling man being torn from limb-to-limb...failing to collect himself as he stumbled along to eventually let down--all of mankind.

Artemis saw his eyes tire, annoyed with her ability to freely make snarky remarks to his current and future failures. Crossing arms and watching him do manual labors to detract attention from a wife pirating funds from a charity and ranting about the honorable attributes of a perverted father...nothing was going to be enough to appease a wife, born to a house of disturbed pleasures. Artemis giggled and called him a straight sucka, for pretending that he could achieve peace in the Middle East--on top of the ludicrous demands of the following minor tasks...ticked-and-tacked to form a giant mountain. Talking shit was a hobby Artemis had mastered in the dens of criminal children and orphans, a deflecting pattern used in moments of great worry. He was like the hero Atlas, but instead of not being able to talk out of exhaustion for holding up the world: the doll-like husband was at a genuine loss...to find proper words for the situation crafted at the hands of in-laws, eventually retreating back into a hole in the ground--tethered at the waist to a wife...too afraid to stand behind the actions of creepy father in-law, worried of a fire as it crept to the seams of a swaying tent. Artemis had wanted to prove the depth of corruption that seeded itself in positions of power at moments of a rigged opportunity.

The loving husband held timid voice; unsure of each step that pulled his wife from a limed light...as she resisted and he screeched and yammered reasoning like a giant bird--peckish and fleeting. It wasn’t Artemis’s prerogative to hold manners and drink tea with the oddly giant boy, dressed as a bank teller: so she ignored his mild mumbling and interjected...asking if he offered any actual solution or guidance when searching for a Minotaur at the heart of a collapsing tent. Artemis had already tied the Mechanical Boar upon a tree outside of Jeffrey’s home; pretending that a tent held the beast to gain entry and observation of the land and its citizens. His beady eyes and silence gave rise to Artemis’s anger; pressing past excuses and enabling words...telling the man to take his wife and to get the fuck out of her face, if he had no intentions of righting his many, many...many wrongs...snarling at a stranger holding ticketed entry to a shit-show, glimmering with neon signs suggesting a big, beautiful future...annoyed that curling fists would be punished by law, if she took a single moment to act out on such an exhilarating and missed-opportunity.

The sheepish man avoided looking at his pretty wife, as she feverishly began painting herself metallic aimlessly, but committed to the bit none-the-less. The wife laughed maniacally with her well-rehearsed antics--garish gold paint cascaded downward across her now bare chest...sensually dripping everywhere in their surprise to the public display. The woman became hysterical-- regressed to memories unknown, as she ripped off sharp tweed cotton-candy dusted clothes, and began pleasuring herself with the large-handled paintbrush. The golden madness brought on by the cursed paint: had finally poisoned and penetrated the Daughter of King Minos. The pale man looked shocked at his partner, and Artemis avoided looking in her general direction: blushing to herself, as the live show were mildly arousing to say the least. A free exhibition wasn’t fun when it were compiled from the sins of one childhood household, projected unto the world as an endless nightmare...artful in its sharp edges, its slow and methodical movements thrusting upon a handle as truth. It was a sad question to be said out loud, to be addressed at a later date by professionals of the mind--ready to help offer closure for the assuming crimes that kept her mind blank and malleable to the wishes of a forever absent father. The loss-of-childhood, had given a man the confidence to build armor...impregnable to the rule-of-law, until the sands of time ran out, or death came knocking...whichever came first. Artemis’s hands tied in the meantime, forced to decipher actions and words as they arose...unable to understand the excuses given to a beast that thrived off of stolen valor and seized opportunity.

Artemis had once admired the strawberry hued Chanel suit worn by a famed first lady in the past: it were like lingerie, for serious women who liked politics and timeless taste in a sense. It’s tight knitting of fibers; presenting power and an effervescence of brilliant commitment to historical fashion. Artemis and the random husband finally avoided averting their gaze, hiding behind concerned brows and gazing at a pile of fabric shed bedside. Every time they spun in the wrong direction to gather thoughts; they were either outside near a pile of vomit--tent-side...or swallowed alive by a house that remained depreciated in value by the second. They admired the view of the woman, as she openly masturbated in front of them: equals...as men holding attention to elicit scene next to one another--lost in a trance and embarrassed by their emotional erections in attendance to sexually-charged opportunity.

He finally remembered they were deep in conversation: asking Artemis for opinions on what to do with his sickened wife, as he attempted to hide his actual erection. Such male issues--Artemis didn’t have to worry aboot: continuing to glance over at his woman, and the marvelous spectacle...softly touching her clitoris and moving the handle slowly in and out as she moaned. The man interrupted the spell of curiosity: pulling-focus from the lustful stares towards his wife. He had only wanted to secure the health and safety of his family now, and worried his wife was now-and-forever ill: with her blinding obsession for gold paint, and all the illicitness it had brought into their lives. It was simply easier for Artemis to just say “yep.” and walk off, as she stole one last gander at the gold-laced woman reaching climax in public--her walls painted with the same color of transparency as Artemis’s home. She left...knowing they’d have plenty of time to discuss the details on their long trek toward the center of a maze--without her sexy distraction bringing on a silent sadness carried over from childhood: their only mission that day, was to help preserve a shred of dignity and restore order for all of mankind.

As they walked--Artemis told the quiet man how pertinent time had become...to retrieve the incriminating book lined with gold in its ugly entirety; its spells the only thing able to dismantle the armor of the Mechanical Boar. The man said nothing of value...mumbling the words; "something, something...birthday book" beneath a confused breath when steps far ahead of her: which, Artemis took as an understanding of agreement--she trailed behind and continued to talk shit aboot the depth of idiocy...that was the entirety of the surreal political situation. There was no burden in proof to provide context for his concerns, but he mumbled the name Kendra...as though an obscure name would provide a simplified answer for the madness of it all. Artemis wondered how many Kendras could be considered memorable--considering the last one she encountered had looked like a ghoul with an overbite; guarding a table of glass-bottled poisons. Large teeth and sullen eyes made for an unmemorable appearance, but the introduction had made the worst first-impression ever. Artemis couldn’t leave that lady’s side fast enough. The answers of freaky-assholes hiding behind the title parent would be a lesson too icky to dwell on daily; gifted with strange agreement within the courts of public opinions. Artemis had backed off from a fight that went nowhere, tip-toeing a back peddle, and agreeing to agree with the uprising in concerns by citizens around the globe--holding a public forum to debate the criminality of parents abusing children at any and every opportunity.

As they approached the tent along a twisted and turning trail--Artemis saw his demeanor change; it became apparent that he didn’t have a lot of personal experience with the dead-eyed savages in close-proximity as they yelled and cast storms of spit in their direction instantaneously. They said nothing of articulation or value...he seemed to be off-put by fellow constituents protecting the flapping doors pulled aside for easy entry like loitering trolls. What reasons did he have...to stand in the audacity of being afraid...when he had personally lassoed and collected the screeching passions for false patriotism to dump into an event space well-outside of its holding capacity. "Well...this seems like a fire hazard...", Artemis remained unafraid to protect those too-stupid to protect themselves from the obstacles of harm provided by hate-filled opportunity.

She stood at the entrance and waited for the signal of ticketed approval...but, when she moved to usher him in and fall in line: he took a massive step back in fearful disapproval. Why was he so afraid of the citizens in attendance? He objected to the plan, and what it demanded of him personally--cowardice approach ran thick in his blood, as were the traditional ways of the dead-eyed savages. Artemis had little-to-no patience and expected very little from him anyway up until this point: she were tired of walking and talking to herself to keep spirits high, and disliked the doll-like husband already. She cut a long piece of the rope from the side of the tent and tethered his waist to hers; ready for battle, and forgetting that doing everything her fucking self was the name of the game...while "good men"; stepped aside for reasons of self-preservation. Artemis barked at him to wait at the entrance--until she successfully tied the thread around the center base of the labyrinth. He uselessly nodded in agreement--smiling in belief he had successfully avoided danger and accountability while anchoring aloof outside the boundary of the tent. Artemis was perturbed by his enduring lack-of-courage, and openly wondered how he had managed a life that had placed him in positions of authority when he so often backed out last minute without shame. He would eventually have to pay for such sins...bound by the laws of the land....his hands dripping in the guilty-facing golden paint that had once afforded him a plush lifestyle filled with endless opportunity.

Artemis moved cautiously and swiftly through the crowds of dead-eyed savages: horrified, as they continued to spew their words of hatred and ignorance; eyes washed over with white filament...blinding hatred keeping them trapped in the moments wasted beneath a crumbling tent. She felt a surprising thud crushing a prominent shoe, as she randomly kicked something that lay beneath a halted step. It was a naked man--piled in a heap on the floor amongst the labyrinth of people, and when she stepped over him...she glanced downward and felt her heart stop in confusion. Artemis knelt over and saw an unconscious figure--his robes torn to shreds; naked from being stomped on by endless dead-eyed savages while he remained lost in a deep slumber. She voided calm judgement, fully-aware that the mother of his child was pretty eccentric and abrasive...giving him the benefit-of-a-doubt that he’d simply gone inside the tent in search of her wandering soul, probably hoping to extract her from a toxic environment...tired out to the brink of fainting in his desperate search; worried that she had proudly chosen to be lost in the maze of golden opportunity.

Artemis propped him up and continued to nurse they grey-haired man...and since she wasn’t an actual medical doctor: she continued on with very scientific and highly-effective method...of bitch slapping the man across his sleepy face. It wasn’t the well-deserved slap that salted wide nostrils, but her familiar giggling that made the Viking awake abruptly with flashing eyes. He continued to stare into her eyes with confusion and anger...disappointed a woman of color had touched him without consent, specifically outraged that it had been Artemis to wake him from his princess nap. A lecture fell freely on deaf ears--Artemis rolling weary eyes and wondering why he held her to higher standards than his beloved partner at any and every opportunity.

Artemis stood up and and held an annoyed hand out to assist the aging Viking from the floor...he rejected her aid: standing up with haste, as he avoided looking at her in mild-disgust. She smiled honestly--content with having realized she hadn’t made him up, his tall stature towering over her within an instant. He was indeed the most handsome individual she had yet to meet in younger years, blushing cheeks often arose whenever she avoided looking up at him. She turned to him, as to say hello--he stared at her with striking blue eyes and grumbled that she should give him a reason or explanations as to why she were naked in his proximity. There wasn’t an ounce of accountability in his bloodstream when in the presence of diversity, his claims of progression were undercut by self-appointed curses in pushing blame or building awkward moments at every opportunity.

Artemis giggled out loud, as she had completely forgotten that she was still "chillin" in an olive-hued birthday suit...doing some crazy-action shit in the nudes with nothing but a bow to crown a proud head. She piped back confidently: waving her wee hand with sass at all his tallness: looking away from his matching nudeness in shy embarrassment and choosing to not point out the obvious flaws in his rush to judgement. He’d probably just ignore her well-informed opinion that he may be naked as well: so Artemis resorted to saying only "uhhhhhh" in a fluted voice until he told her to go away in his boredom, and leaving Artemis fighting back fits of giggling as result to his denial in glorious nakedness. His blatant lack-of-awareness to chosen environments were taxing on Mondays and Wednesdays specifically. Artemis just shrugged her shoulders and allocated energy elsewhere--his endless gripping and concerns belonged to another woman now. Old men standing blind and having their egos and dicks out on display...seemed to be an issue everywhere, and he was no different to the other dead-eyed savages at the end of the day. Artemis knew that it was substantially more important to ignore the naked man momentarily in lieu of completing a mission bigger than the both of them, and so she left the yelling man...standing alone in the crowd, as she set course to try and assist ans save what little was left of mankind.

Artemis thought kindly of her time with the Viking, and felt him searching for her in countless dreams. He had been looking upon the fall leaves, gazing past elongated feet--seeking an earring that belonged to his wife. Artemis helped him find the coral and gold stud, and he decided to walk her home in return: they parted ways with Artemis telling him that it was always good to see him...with a tight-lipped smile and all honesty. The pair had once strolled along urban streets in stride in light rain, and he had asked defensively--if all she ever did...was play with a leather ball upon wooden courts. Artemis replied "I wish", with a deep sense of longing and felt his heart melt with confusion--silence came naturally in his presence, and neither of them could make sense of their friendship. He had once blushed at her detailing the past--describing a role as a leader of cheer and pep: his attention to the details of her life were often overwhelming for Artemis in early adulthood. This trait of Western silliness, painted as a designated leader of encouragement--were an oddity she noted brought plenty of men to their knees, for whatever reason. Artemis could only hope her actual husband would take such pride in her love of performing arts and athletics. A path of sorrowful Traditionalism made Artemis an anathema in rooms of women--their discouraging glares cast down upon her when an eased smile stood out above the rest of mankind.

The audacity to grin past it all, to hold a head high and a ribbon tucking wild hair in place with pride, often superseded the things expected from Indigenous Warrior women--walking their final steps along a Trail of Tears. The only thing more dangerous than the distasteful self-hatred cast by Indigenous Warrior women, were the silent stares of a pale visitors; buttoned-up behind tightly-strung corsets of judgement and bonnets declaring intent for endless pillaging and war. Artemis had utilized the option to cut ties from the Viking forever, realizing the company he kept would and could make her ill past repair. Sauntering away in the crowds of unpleasant faces without a need to look back...instead of becoming a potential home-wrecker to the starkly unremarkable female personality type called Dolores; snarling insults past a cursed shell dangling from a necklace and a paired set of earrings: somehow soured be the idea of a stranger and growing bitterer by the day...complicit in offering little to society, despite being granted and afforded every single fucking wish and manifested opportunity.

Next Chapter: [ XI ] Artemis and the Cerberus