Artemis practiced ways to illustrate a zeotrope of nightmares, spliced and never ending: the horror disrupted her sleep--left with a ringing of abrupt chimes...the scratches and clawing of shredding minutes, moments rewinding her life aggressively. Metal gears gave an industrial pith: even the air was exhausted by grinding and misaligned wording. There was nothing bright or shining in the life of a woman; deprived from birth from the essentials provided by untamed love.

She frantically invested in hobbies of artistic outlets, keeping heavy hands busy out fear to what a moment of defeated silence would mean. Artemis could draw a scene--with only a black-cloth. A silly story of a wife reaching up past a smooth neck, and looking up at a haunted door with expectancy. Artemis had accepted the nonsensical begets of such a strange simulation at an early age: a mechanism to cope with Truman symptoms given to a middle sibling; neurosis causing a spell of blindness; trapped center stage in paranoia. She often stood in the middle of chaos, needing to be the anchor to reality--in a world swirling with habitual mental-unwellness. The rift between idiosyncrasies of reality and those trapped behind a static wall of expectations was a difficult pill to swallow, especially when the poignant distance was between two siblings and a blooming relationship. The pointing of an eagle eye could quite literally bring out the worst in those we love.

Artemis would remember the words of wisdom, given to her by a man that was once an perpetrator for violence against children. The brother of her Grandfather--was nothing more than a puppet-master and manipulator of words, but Artemis just called him Papa. He informed her; of her reflection of another reflection...and explained the mechanisms that kept the moon in the sky. The unfairness of death: forcing her to believe that his departure was meant to be a test of character, and a cessation of his actions and legacy as time passed. She would mature overnight; accepting, that his monolithic presence had been tragic. Artemis held open revulsion for his words; flirtatious words given to a child--held to the standards of a female adult in every sense of the word. He had single-handedly distorted the meaning of love.

Traditional Yurok stories that were once hidden away--those that brought death upon any Indigenous Warriors...had be unleashed upon the world. The curses of words being born and traded; had touted curses to seep deeply into the soils. Nature--had orchestrated its own defense mechanism to combat the evils found in the actions of mortals. Artemis had been born and abandoned in a darkened forest of immorality; that the trees themselves had taught her the talents in standing-tall, and holding fair accountability to those that dared speak of topics that were deemed by the State to be unsuitable content for the ears of the public--forbidden.

Times had progressed, and the State no longer kidnapped and tortured children on behalf of a tax-exempt enterprise. The lack of physical comfort between parents and children--began forming a rift in societal structures, complete with a shift in shame. The generations that followed a half century of stolen children--Indigenous Warriors; slaughtered and slaughterers began to display the range of entitlement through extreme violence. Artemis was part of a generation; weeping with an abundance of confused energy and indifferent moods: A perpetrator of violence named Jaylen followed soon after. She lived in a world where a faceless perpetrator had once committed domestic terrorism. The weapon in his hand was one of annihilation; a "solution"--to dead-eyed savages fighting their immature rage, but a tool of death, unworthy of even touching their blessed skin--treaty ruled and forbidden.

Artemis had been a participant of the “spanked generation”; one timid and hardworking without a need to dazzle. Bare-minimum; but overachieving at the least. She survived the astronomical effort to tank the future--a path blazed by their elders and their neighbors. They often complained of the less-enthusiastic proceeding worker industry. The future of the Polis was bleak af. There could be worse things, than holding-tight to a broad understanding of repercussions, and the value of portrait mode. There was a huge divide between generations: drifting apart with a gentle pull of a dramatic string. House and home, became divided; tables broke into two on the holidays-one for citizens reppin a set of blood red caps--enslaved to a cheapened dogma, and a separate table--for all the other colors. Houses burnt themselves down from the ground up; all sparked by conversations expanding the definition of sex, politics, and the basic principals about love.

Artemis had led the unpleasant way; standing her ground and taking a more personal and less-comfortable way in correcting, or adjusting physical awareness on a more empathetic level. It wasn’t the issue that women like the Siren named shur-lee could pick away at Artemis’s braided hair in buildings of employment--it was the foundations of the professional environment that kept Artemis weary; ready to swat away at the hand of a stranger. Artemis was famous for saying rude things like "please, don’t touch me."-mid-sentence, and carrying on with operations as usual. Her first and only advocate was a responsibility learned by inconsequential moments of pure discomfort. Artemis was the only person in charge of upholding parental reinforcements on the front lines. Permission to her body--was exclusively reserved for whatever man could withstand such a guarded love.

Artemis had stood witness; the last generation to be seen, and not heard. Holding share in the blame for a chemically-riddled population, for participating in a nutritional experiment, and stepping up to accomidate a trending wave in misdiagnosis of attention disorders. The world had handed Artemis a ribbon for simply showing up, along with a false sense of hope for a total victory. The surfacing archipelago of emotions--meant an entire generation was unable to give second thoughts to plans in action, and the unprecedented longing to distract and destroy. Waters of destruction soothed the edges of unreasonable situations, and formed islands of developed opinions. The world began spinning faster in her many moments of triumph, and she built a name upon the reputation of surviving as an orphan--weapons drawn, brandishing a smile. She was the epitome of a victorious Indigenous Warrior--wandering home, unaware that the old world no longer existed. There was nothing hopeful about her life; outside of the fact she worked so hard to become a person easy to love.

Previous parenting methods were challenged, and their verdicts easily overruled with a fair fight. The voting system was all that kept them on the same wavelength, united them in the mid-stages of coordinated coup. Their aging curses fell weak within the erecting of a golden web--because words were tied to faces and places of opportunity; in a netted permanence. The elderly were left pleading for assistance, fiddling with a glass shield; stuck within a captured moment--unable to break away into caveat. Citizens would flock to observe an elderly person getting due Justice in the streets of public opinion. Many of the elderly wore their mistakes bitterly upon puckered faces, sharpened tongues and faint spells of rage were synonymous--with just about everyone’s grandparents. The elders were left with only the task to do nothing; exiled for their ability to be unhelpful, and kind of xenophobic on the occasion. Artemis and her generation had moved mountains in their sleep; by stepping ahead of the time and reducing their sleep. They had sacrificed so much, as a proud impartial-enough conglomerate--dedicated to protect and maintain a golden web, ready to drink from the river of knowledge that ebbed and flowed. The world was brought closer than ever-knit with the anxious hands of those casting information and codes; pirating the wrong music on platforms: limed and deemed as risky or forbidden.

Artemis dressed in her finest ruffles and leathers; sighing in boredom. Defending the security of the citizens was a meaningless battle. At this point--all she knew a was the responsibility of being tasked with the duty of protecting the Golden Fleece from enemies of other galaxies. Artemis had known the future was bright and filled with a need for long-term solutions, and she took great pride in the outspoken youth that demanded change. Artemis was inexplicably proud, that the following generation had broken away from the mold, by refusing to spread discontent. They survived day-by-day, searching for the existential meaning; instead of perpetuating misogamy fueled violence--or whatever their elders refused to call it. The world was a-lot-less-violent without the infliction of judgement, from those clinging to their antiquated, sexist versions of love.

Artemis had once had a dream where she had ran into her best friend Roro in passing; the girl was worried--finding her with urgency and transforming herself to be recognizable. The state of wordless panic was without room for argument, and so Artemis took her hand...only to take a nap on a couch that managed to appear from thin air. The healthy baby and Artemis--were often coupled as an effective team, a chaotic and dynamic duo--showing the bright future of women in the world of science. Artemis was often creating intricate plans and blueprints for days-jus’ workin alongside Roro--coexisting despite a language barrier. Kindness was found in the small hands of a wee homie swaying with content--enjoying small pieces of smoked salmon and giving rewarded nods. Mistakes were left for the lazy, the uncaring. Life was so precious at Roro’s side. There was no mistake in judgement that time was without a fair price. It was a newer type of graciousness--defined by the title of boss and or baby; unable to nap alone, but striking with a confidence worthy of the Gods themselves. Artemis had been the product of a Space Race; given a chance to exist without the color of her skin overshadowing an entire operation. The next crew came into the world; fit for high offices--Roro was born to a new type of person; protected by expectations and boundaries; able to manage, compute, and output a helpful critique filled with understanding and love.

Their friendship could be painted with a single frame: a stationary door--where Artemis stood outside in a hallway, chasing down a toddler on the loose; unaware of the worry of choking hazards. Mayhem in its purist form. Her voice would quiver and a frantic "AHHH’ was all the sounds gathered for words formed in a flurry--there was a small bout of steps--a stampede of sounds clamoring in the background, and an open lecture hall door laying witness to Artemis leaning over--attempting to gain a firm grasp on reality. Artemis pleaded with the small mortal; debating over what Roro may, or may-not-have put in her mouth within a split second of strolling. The scenario was not one out of the norm, per-say; just heightened in comedy, by the fact Artemis determinedly turned a finger into a fish hook, and began to swoop away at gnawing gums; only to look up and see an entire room of disrupted scholars--fighting fits of laughter. The casual grunts and sheer panic--combined with the purposefully gleeful thuds of a baby on a mission to cause mischief--running away from authority at the youngest of ages, built a harmless silly moment of embarrassment that any caring adult could love.

Artemis had said self-forgiving things like "my life is a mess, woman.", all while she attempted to make history. The baby chomped on random tools and papers--nodding in agreement to such profundity. Roro was talented in providing laboratories with inspiration, and distracted them all from inked problems. The admirable baby had been destined to wear the Blue Crest of Hope, having already been hauled into a couple of command stations. Between the opulence of her baby adventures, and Artemis’s need to lecture--it wasn’t surprising that Roro held firm commands, spewing sounds and charming all those she met. They had traveled the land, showing off the sky-boats they had created together, and essentially winning all the things. Artemis thought fondly of such a time, where she had an accomplished team and a cheerleader like Roro to high-five on behalf of a newfound greatness. Artemis had forgotten what her life had been, before the baby had found her standing alone in a laboratory. The baby and Artemis: exceptional individuals already, but together--they could be unstoppable. Roro had been the Morty to her Rick. Artemis was finally happy being named Sir, or Auntie Tila, as long as her sidekick Roro was armed with warm hugs and laughter-filled love.

Artemis packed her shit and headed North--having decided she now required an army. She stared at the darkening sky blanketing a bowls-edge of foggy weather. On no particularly unique day; Artemis caught herself glaring at an unnatural formation of a flock of silver birds. These weren’t the murders found along her polluted river. Metal vultures were personalized; trained to abide by programming and orders. The aerial flocks were armed to the teeth; weighing down the souls of men holding duty and diligence. She stood as soldier with moccasins to the ground, having been complicit in furthering scientific testing methods with accessories--that were easily traded out for heavier payload. Artemis had moved focus of intellectual property to advancing medicine--worried that everything that she touched became a weapon somehow. A morally questionable part of her historic legacy was something that Artemis didn’t necessarily love.

The swarm hissed and formed an ominous path of directive commands. A stroll in a dream left her sprinting off; batting at the metal birds--rushing past an exposed ear. A defensive hand would raise up to protect her smile, the edges of a blade would wrap itself within her mangled bush of hair. Artemis decided to return the metal corpse to its rightful owner: curious to see who had wished to spy upon her from afar. Federal regulations left a few to flutter by and attack in droves. Artemis was grateful to live in a time where such conversations were amended and conducted on behalf of the citizens. Artemis was often first to throw up gang signs before defensive weapons; anticipatory that words could mend a world lacking in ethical guidance and love.

As Artemis reached the land named after fortune and gold, she crouched over and noted that there was someone being attacked by the birds at the end of the buzzing trail. The silhouette of a crucified person dangling by their hands and strapped at thin ankles; bound to a massive post. The pestering flock was aimed in to peck and pick away at the flesh of a woman; accused of prostitution and abandoning her children for a bottled love.

The birds threw silver pellets from their cocky mouths--hoovering in circles and bombarded whoever was unfortunate enough to be nailed on a haphazard cross. Such harsh and defensible uses--had been why Artemis had abandoned scientific work in proximity to such unforgiving artillery, as a reluctant witness to the desensitized apathy it granted pilots. Light-hearted talking points about a potential occupation had been thrown on the table, and she had said nothing as men explained where and why such weapons were considered "like a game, after a while." left her hands heavy and shaking; afraid of anyone and everyone. The casualties of innocent civilians weighed heavily on her thoughts; expecting the world wouldn’t understand the true cruelty of such leaders that traded the lives of three--for the lives of sixty-or-more. The flock of metal birds were the tools meant to bring out cowards, to shine light on how far the world had fallen from the path of her Traditional Warrior ethos. To spin off ones axis, would mean classification of information--implored by critical learning being thrown behind a static wall; its tax-funded contents forbidden.

Artemis approached the pole, and saw a naked figure nailed to the make-shift cross; cloaked from the crown with the hide of a massive lion. Such nightmares could be painted by the idea of glancing up at someone so utterly helpless to unknown circumstances. The woman was strapped down by nails sitting dead center of each of its gloved golden paws. A coat of armor was all that protected the woman hanging onto life by a thread. A floppy ribbed pipe pumped darkened liquids beneath the opening of fur--exposing a bloated abdomen, and a deep inhale that sucked away, draining life from the lioness whimpered in pain. Artemis wondered where her mother was; and why no one had come to look for such a pitiful creature...was she not enough of a decent person to hold fair-trial on those absent, to the lulling mumbling of a woman lost on the bevvy; at the very least--the hanging woman was a very difficult person to love.

The poor woman fell under constant attack; swaying a defeated head from side-to-side, as the endless swarms of silver birds barely diverted from lethally injuring the beast. None-essential organs, and exposed eyeballs were all they were after. They tortured the lioness each nightfall, and reopened her wounds for eternity. There in the middle of dreary scene--was a woman hanging for her reasons in prioritizing a poison over her duties to provide the world, and her own offspring with unattested love.

Artemis raised her bow; their was no chance of defeat when stepping toe-to-toe with an Indigenous Warrior pulling back at the calm string of a willow bow. She had a legit shot, and her swift feet began to dance slowly in overlaying steps to the side. Artemis began to shoot down the silver birds...one by one. As she did this, the lion began to breathe heavily--moaning and growling in disbelief as it avoided looking in the direction of her hero, even though its eyes were already blinded by static. Artemis began to talk aboot herself--since the lion provided her with no answers to their mismanaged circumstances. Artemis was left taking her frustrations out upon each arrow released, and growing livid with every other accurate flick of a wrist. Each swarm of silver birds arrived on site--each as ruthless as the batch before. Damn it. Artemis hated these things. She had a rational fearful towards the future of warfare they presented. They were unrestricted, unable to ease off of directed verbal commands, or pleas to spare ones life--they were a flock of death: given a breath of life by those unwilling to admit the metal birds were weapons, tools of mass destruction--flying on the wings of patriotic love.

The Mechanical Boar had once thrown a fit--a tantrum like no other; to cast havoc and distract the citizens, implemented a "kill list" mid-ramble--utilizing his compulsive demeanor and mania to mask his lust for blood. Artemis had taken the exact-opposite approach; wanting to remove an implemented threat, and minimize the weaponizing of even herself. She stared at heavy hands; flawed and glimmering with blood--the true reason why she considered engineering skills on the topic to be taboo; needing oversight as to what should be prioritized as forbidden.

Artemis mentioned her two elder sisters; Dianne, a-year her senior, and Athena, the eldest of the trio, four-years wiser than Artemis. The lion began to cry silver tears; turning a sharp jaw-line to moan in agony. If felt rude to stare at the pathetic sight, let alone the one that accompanied the heavy sloshing sounds churning away from whatever drain-line fell from the exposed abdomen. Artemis began to unload some of the things that burdened her drowning soul--protecting the lion with companionship, and taking aim at the silver birds between tasks. Her tales were filled with truth, hope, and a longing to find love.

Artemis told the lion how she, and her two sisters had been abandoned upon a hillside. Artemis had crawled up a cliff, and began weeping--unsure as to why society had cast her aside, unprotected and starving. The men in her life were afraid of her mother--a prominent prostitute...known for her professional work on the eighty-second blocks. Artemis told the lion how she had met strangers--that boasted of endlessly embarrassing stories surrounding her birth mother--about a lost woman asking to perform fellatio on them for a small fee. It wasn’t a hidden fact that her mother had done questionable and unsafe things to survive, but each story revolved around the facts of lonely woman...crawling from bed to bed--drowning is self-pity, eager to embrace love.

Artemis felt a shameful hand shaking in fear, describing the hunger in their eyes--recalling how men stared at her in a longing. They judged Artemis, and appeared disappointed that they had only been propositioned by Missy-- instead of her youngest daughter. Artemis had made the common joke with her family; that the woman should have been named “missing”, as she were nowhere-in-sight and her dignity gone forever. Artemis harbored a strange hate for the woman, despite having only heard her voice a few times as a child. A defining moment to build a core chip of anger from, one where an adult berated a child in slurring words--accusing her existence, as the sole reason why a drunk loser couldn’t find love.

Artemis began to weep--her hands trembled and fumbled away at twirling cord connected to a line spread across the land. She was left standing in confusion--a child unsure of why anyone would blame her for such disgusting reasons. A sea of tears began to form a black-hole in her heart on that day. She told the lion; how it had been indescribably awful--having her elder sisters taunt her. They made mean-spirited jokes, as to why their mother had only sent the other two Christmas and birthday presents. They used the collection of gifts to prove that Artemis was an outlier, a freak-of-nature, a person unworthy of someones love.

The drunkard would take on the hobby of calling at random hours to promise the three girls of grand plans to come back, always stating that the plan only had room for the older two. Artemis began crying, as she explained an understandable insecurity and self-hatred that she had inherited at a young age. It had been the first time in her pathetic life--where Artemis wished only to disappear from the face of the planet, and cemented her feet to the scariest of thoughts: clinging to a rounded handle and trembling in fear as a single breath of hatred consumed her mind. "I hate everything." Artemis was unafraid to lay out the shitty evidence to a bound lion, and wondered aloud--why such a dodgy female would give birth to three, and only find reason to love two. Her lack-of-purpose; left Artemis, armed with only meaningful words and second-guesses. Every decision weighed so heavily upon her heart. No amount of time could compensate, or heal the amount of abuse she’d overcome--Artemis was forever the orphan wandering without a mission statement, a child protected by a darkened understanding of the world. Artemis was unable to place a bow of hatred down upon the soil--so committed to expressing her battle with understanding love.

Artemis continued to ward off the metal birds--for what would seem like fucking forever; slowly running out of things to discuss at the lion hanging around in her servitude. Artemis avoided getting into the "deep stuffs" that were only reserved for her friends Alan and Sarah. Artemis managed a silver tongue and golden bow, but no amount of dispelled arrows or awards could soothe the distraught emotions that occasionally boiled over. Very few had witness her voice change--her smile drop, because Artemis had witnessed how easily the world had been afraid of of her feral upbringing. The temperament of a confused person; was more frightening and less-threatening to the presence of a "loving son" named Guy Jr. Society would always provide him with the benefit of a doubt, just as easily it would gladly rip away at Artemis’s gathered experience in re-crafting the word love.

Artemis hated that she had wished death upon the random woman called mom, and so she traded kind words for those she had once loved and lost. Plenty of beauty in their world was given to Artemis, with moments painted by two kind women laughing and preparing her hair--linking arms as they presented a cultured daughter in a gifted dress. That day belonged to Artemis; because Jackie and Erma had decided that she deserved a single normal experience, a chance to wear yellow without the threat of discipline. They didn’t need public acknowledgement, just the pride provided by doing the right thing--knowing Artemis was a child left alone in the world, suffering in silence; gracing stages and giving away smiles for free. Two respected-elders, had done everything within their power to encourage Artemis to follow her dreams of singing upon stages and providing a dull world with a new take on theatrical love.

Artemis confessed to the lion; that she had called upon a dying woman, wanting to unburden the festering ugliness that shadowed each thought. She’d call a stranger a piece of trash upon her deathbed-empty words for an even emptier person. The world could care less about the cries of an abandoned child, and such jarring speech was left falling on deaf ears. Artemis had wished death upon a stranger. There wasn’t a shred of dignity left to preserve, as the woman on the other end began yammering about how life had selfishly offered her nothing. Artemis was too feeble to care, ready to let go of the childish image she’d built for an uncaring person. She refrained from cursing, and resorted to converting to her youngest self--pretending Athena was behind her as she roared "leave me alone!". Artemis was indifferent to a mortal living in hospice and self-wallowing talks of paralyzation and tubes to feed whatever was left. Artemis had worked her whole life to let go of the hand of the memory of such hopelessness. She had still found the time and courage to hate a woman she’d never met. The swirling emotions finally served its purpose--Artemis erased the woman from her life with a snop of her fingers, and a sigh of relief. There was something cleansing about leaning into the idea of admitting her ancestors held potential disposition: in a ego-driven culture where defeat was considered unacceptable, forbidden.

Artemis raised an empty glass; holding tribute to the enigma of her missing biological parents. Both had been losers, and gave her only the option to work harder--to be the winner by default. She couldn’t be any shittier, than the two randoms that didn’t fit her agenda. They were both beyond-unhelpful in contributing to her ambitions of operating a false star. Artemis didn’t spite the woman for existing, but instead, moved her uncircumventable memory on the topic into an invisible box--tucking away the sensitive information indefinitely. Her ability to compartmentalize trauma…was a trait she had picked up from the dead-eyed savages. The subject of Artemis’s orphan-hood was reliable in bringing discomfort to snowflakes everywhere, sensitive and disgusting material, unfit for privileged ears. Artemis would always be left standing alone awkwardly amid scenes of slow-motion carnage. Artemis told herself under a deep breath--words of comfort, reminding herself that she was no longer a discarded and forgotten orphan. The personal anguish of the time served in a cage could forever bring a snarl to her face. Life had easily settled for the solution of imprisonment--too hideous to even gaze upon. Her unearned title of delinquent gave her a cheeky defensiveness. Speaking publicly on the matter was impolite--capable of derailing her emotions with memories that were unwelcome and strictly forbidden.

The lion began thrashing its spine aboot--attempted once more, to break out the binding cords and eventually holding its head low in defeat. Artemis realized the lion was indicating a swarm arriving over their horizon, and she noted that the timing in-arrival; differentiated from the countless swarms before it. Artemis held a firm stance, pulling back upon a bow as she ran around the post: shooting with precision, playfully wispy hair was the biggest threat to her vision in that moment. Artemis picked up from her story, telling the lion of her eldest sister Athena, and her Herculean rage that wielded the power of a thousand suns. Artemis found such waves of unbridled emotions to be entertaining; she’d often dismantle moods with quick peck on top of Athena’s head--wandering off and preparing to fix whatever issues may arise from emotion-fueled strategies. She was forever the biggest fan of Athena, something that made the woman less threatening by nature--which was also something that any elder sibling would be annoyed by. It was difficult to fend off the world alone, let alone dominate one when there were people ready to combat her actions and words with unending love.

Artemis finally broke ties with Athena in their adulthood, as she refused to get help from professionals--dedicated to live a life dipped in the enjoyment of compulsive intrigue. The Kind-Hearted Hunters had helped Artemis see that Athena could never offer unconditional love, since Athena only knew how to express her feelings with fists or harsh words--the framework of her diagnosis was a blueprint to home that could never be filled with love.

Athena had little-to-no empathy for Artemis survivng rape as infant, as she had forgotten her own personhood soon after being gang-raped on an adolescent birthday. The deranged culprits had been the friends of the woman who had been funded through their taxes, a citizen designated to foster and protect Athena in her youth. Athena hid away the memory with the rest; sealing it behind a steel stare--deeming it unimportant and the topic forbidden.

It would be years be many moons, before Athena disclosed such a tragic story. All Artemis could do was weep on her behalf, and ensure the broken woman that the experience was considered human trafficking in every way, shape and form. Artemis asked for a name; only to have Athena shut down in a state of fragile silence. The story enraged Artemis, enough to take the written statement and ask a kind advocate of the law--Kris, of the status of such a Guardian. "It was a long time ago." Artemis knew too much, so the sympathy of a sexual assault victim only reaffirmed her anger: she knew the statistics of rape that occurred for the children of little hope, but never imagined it would be so condensed and everpresent in her everyday family life. Artemis was not able to walk a single step without her emotional weapons drawn--unwilling to let such evil go freely to further perpetrate violence against children. Artemis and Athena had very different opinions on the severity of the laws of the land, and what should be considered legally forbidden.

The lion began to hyperventilate as Artemis spoke, pained somehow-with a fucking awful story that transgressed into topic of casual evils. Artemis told the lion--how her sister often fought with her fists and skull. Barbaric and efficient methods were how Athena had recently broken her nose. Athena’s disdain for life, was more sinister than an average sisterly rivalry. Artemis clung to the woman tighter; knowing that a nose could be fixed, but her pain could never be reduced. She fought off a hopeless spirit with a simple embrace, silence and love.

Artemis told the lion, how her niece and nephew were too young to know that their father had once made sexual advances on her as a minor. There was only the option to keep the secret until it ate her alive--unsure of what the consequences should be for an auntie holding a kind smile. The confession to her elder sister confirmed her worst fears: Athena was raised by Hera...after all. An argument panned out; where Artemis faced endless questions, and was eventually called a liar and homewrecker by a scorned woman. She was unable to take anything of value from the experience, and eventually the occurrence was thrown in a box with the rest of Athena’s trauma--mislabeled as something that just "happened a long time ago." It was the first time in her life--where Artemis knew deep down, that she was utterly alone in the world, unprotected and unable to rely on those she chose to respect and love.

Artemis’s youth ended abruptly over the predatory actions of a man--aged, almost forty years her senior. Athena had cursed her youngest sister with ill-intended words and disbelief--they would eventually morph into a braided belt, egging Artemis on; to bring an end to the mindless suffering. The wrath of Athena--meant her family was her own, and Artemis was alone. Unlovable. She didn’t care that Artemis lived in fear of men and their strength, or occasionally re-lived chaotic moments; scrambling to remove a grown-man pinning her down to a bed, or sprinting down the road to escape his intentions. The world kept spinning, and Artemis was the only person held accountable for the actions of another. Spells of indifference; suddenly replaced a smile that was once filled with hopeful love.

Artemis had wasted her youth; protecting her niece and nephew form their drunk mother and her many mood swings--keeping their father at a distance. There were plenty of successful nights tucking the two in, and it made her feel fairly successful; in the theory that Artemis could fix generations of broken families by letting children make mistakes and be children. It led to fights and battles that were hushed and concise--because of instances like when Artemis refused to leave her baby niece and nephew to sleep with the two monsters laying half-alive in drunken stupors in the neighboring room. It was just easier to lock a bedroom door, and tuck herself away on a small bed alongside her nephew; to remove the memories of endless yelling and replace them with ones that reminded them--that they had other family members ready to fight for their right to exist in peace. They’d wait until a small knock tapped along a door--and their mom had returned from her side quest of dulling the pain. The monster gone--meant Athena was ready to give and receive bountiful love.

It would take ten more years of arguments and fights--until Artemis finally left the kids to fend for themselves. Guilt, replaced routines and education goals. Artemis had no choice but to return to her studies; her heart couldn’t take one more round with Athena’s logic. Artemis’s theory that "nobody cares", held up as strong as Athena’s need to suppress memories and emotions. They were both indifferent to the fact that her spine had finally collapsed under the physical trauma embedded upon wee discs. Artemis was no different than Athena, as she believed that her own physical pains were less-important, or the topic deemed as unnecessary to dwell on, selfish even--ultimately forbidden.

The awful tale of child rape and hopelessness seemed to upset the lion, and Artemis wondered if her madness was rubbing off on a less-strong spirit. The beast thrashed and muffled its screaming under a glowing golden mask. She had only attempted to entertain the stranger with her morbid tale of the human experience. Artemis changed the subject in favor of the unsettled gestures of the struggling animal. Wondering aloud, if it were ok for her to be excited aboot the idea of motherhood in the future. Her sister Athena often said mean things like "well, you don’t even have any kids.", and Artemis knew that was a shitty way of accusing a younger sibling of being incapable for such a labor of love.

Artemis would be left with only the option of winging it; since there was no future-grandma in sight, and there wasn’t an actual guidebook. Alas, Artemis would be failed by books and their golden materials. Like any lady--looking forward to that path of life; she worried about how such children may learn of a past filled with neglect and abuse. Artemis struggled with crippling anxiety, and worked through the occasional distress caused in attempting to navigate the complexities of love.

Artemis felt embarrassed by her own branded bitterness--wondering why her papa had been gone so long; standing outside of a door painted red in silence. She felt stupid; in moments where she almost missed Papa Jim. There became a seedling of hate festering in her heart. She demanded from the universe--any reason, as to why he had left her with such a god-awful woman. Artemis was personally offended that he had passed away, and left her sitting unprotected in his lie-filled shadow and hat’d presence in the night. She had barely survived his sexual hobbies. Artemis was forever attempting to shake-off the legacy of being his favorite son: now, a confused daughter figure with a hunched-back. She refused to ignore the writings on the wall, as to his perverted form of love.

Artemis began sobbing uncontrollably--wondering why everything had happened to her. Maybe if she had been born a boy, he would of just left her alone and untouched. She was reduced to the uncomfortable memories people had pushed aside or ran away from. Artemis was cursed with morbid curiosity--eventually, she informed the lion of a past attempt at suicide. Noting the first attempts began in congruence to the escalation of molestation, and as young as ten. The most meaningful and final attempt had been before and soon after, she had met her three of her best friends: Hippolyta, Yoyo and Roro. Each woman had played their part in rounding out her understanding of friendship and love.

The heavy weight of her circumstances heightened, as the dead-eyed savages took joy in asking “what are you?”: unaware she had a curved spine and a past as an exiled orphan. Moments where strangers needed instant information and explanations, as to her choice to appear racially ambiguous. Nobody had ever asked her what was wrong whenever she cried, nobody fucking cared. But, having a face like hers; meant there was something more to the world, than the basic physique of the dead-eyed savages. Artemis was forever finding new emotions swelling over, as she defended her objections to existing in such a shallow world--forever painted by strangers and family as “overly sensitive”. Artemis had only been ahead of her time--hiding away an ability to empathize with others, and a ruthless personality. The hardened exterior often made her own feelings appear invalid--often considered to be either entitled, or brown, and both were seemingly unhelpful and forbidden.

Artemis told the captured lion of her recent mourning. There was conflicting strain in seeking reasons--as to why her favorite Robin, had lost to a very, very long battle with pain and despair. Childhood had ended for the masses, the moment he fell at the hand of the same curses that had followed Artemis from Hades. The thespian was famous for his outlandish portrait of a visitor named Mork, and later for his ability be animated and painted blue. He brought so much joy into a world filled with violence, and the topic on his death had been wildly spread, as unexpected and unjust. He had been so undeniably loved by many. The world kept turning--just less fun than it had been, before the remarkable man had brought laughter to endless stages. His legacy was so human; full of trials and errors, and trials won over by error. He was simply the best kind of person; kind, talented, and filled-to-the-brim with love.

Artemis now struggled with the curse of sorrow openly, as she confessed to the lion, that she often daydreamed of hanging herself from the sky like the robin. Until one day the simplified thought consumed her every fiber. It caused her to look upwards in a mischievous angle, as a fascination with death gave her misery a name. Artemis longed to walk into a forest famed for its bamboo and pandas. If only to spare herself from the embarrassment of being a burden to those she loved, from witnessing her worsening condition. The curse of the orphan; bringing Artemis to her knees with a spell of constant suffering...even in her adulthood. The lonely forest offered a temporary solution to her battle in curating love.

Artemis wished out loud: only asking for an answer as to why her parents had abandoned her…had they just never loved her this whole time? What could she have done different? Had they instinctively known since birth, that she was born a monster--with a unique hippocampus and curved spine? What had she done to deserve such unyielding pain? Artemis, felt her small knees buckle beneath the justified, and unpalatable disappointment. She had finally let herself feel the truths of the awful things left ignored or masked by laughter. The pathetic thoughts kept inside began to surface, as she reflected on the many, many ways the world had called her a loser--all too often. Her parents had named her "royal one", and became disheartened by the experience of parenting within a year. They had set her up for failure, casting aside their own experiences, and tossing her off a cliff-side--left to crawl up and accept her place on the lowest rung of a social pyramid. Artemis was under the assumption that they hated her--since she was the unwanted byproduct of their toxic love.

Artemis watched as a silver bird dove blades first--gashing a seemingly sweet spot; lacerating a trailing pipe: suctioning away and cycling mystery substances to and fro--sucking the life force from the lion. The pipe was rancid; covered with a thick layer of buildup. The smell of decay washed over the lingering air, spreading everywhere with a spraying hose--spewing liquid -gold. Blood, petrolchemical, and a rotting substance; thumped past the detached lip of the hose. Artemis stood up in shock; forgetting that she was familiar with an agitated beating pulse. A moment of inaction, medical reflection--A fleeting second where time contorted a minute into sixty minutes. The choice of walking away--called deeply from an unethical forest, to be left dropping a mask of sociopathy to handle an oath, and commit to being a man of action. The choice of caring less--held its own limit, in a standardization of skills that could be helpful for society. She didn’t have time to weigh what was morally compromising in that blink of time; because her intellect left her open to judgement as neglectful in medical duty--critically forbidden.

Artemis hid her worry and surprise in the bloody scene, by avoiding looking up at the lion and attempting to stop its rapid bleeding. Artemis saw that the animal was at risk of bleeding to death, but had so many questions as to why the lion had such rare blood. She had once been told to be weary of disclosing her own golden blood status from being found out by the dead-eyed savages, and the predicament of the lion seemed to be a fair indicator; that her red-haired life would be spent under constant danger of captivity. The data in her ancient genes being prophesied to capsize worlds. Such legends were prohibited to spoke of unless in script--Artemis felt comfortable sharing her truths...the Tradition of black and white poems cursing the land once more. She hadn’t broken any laws--crafting a detailed tapestry to weave her secrets into: allowing her to use skills of ancient oracles to discuss topics that are often reserved and considered banned or forbidden.

A new swarm of silver birds began heading their way--jerking Artemis back into reality. The option of escaping took over. She began frantically climbing a redwood-sized pole; using a belt and counterweights like Mulan. She had captured a silver bird, and tucked it away for safekeeping mid-climb. A metal shell was utilized as a battering ram to push the backside of the giant nails that held the lion to the enchanted post. Her simplified version of things made a scene that any reader with anxiety would know and love.

Clear thoughts took over her body; moments where anxiousness wasn’t an option. Flocks of metal birds drew nearer. Artemis began cursing, swaying below her stressed belts, fumbling to aid in a zig and zag of untethering. She swung an arm wide, bitch-slapping the pointed end of metal spikes and puncturing a hissing chunk of metal. It wasn’t the most graceful use of the silver bird, and it felt completely-wrong to be using it as a sledge hammer, but whatever. The left paw of the lion--finally breaking free last; dropping a monster to dangle and recollect itself. Holding a clenched paw and shallow breath. The threading and portal that had once attached a hose was gaping still--and its contents relaxed, seeping out. The expressing loss-of-blood was immense; which was a trait of medical doom, critical damage, or an indicator to call forth the friends and family one last time--to say farewell to someone that they love.

Artemis reached across the lion to free its right paw; talking to herself and attempting to console the fake-patient, only to turn in horror...to gasp aloud, as the lion swiftly took its own life by slicing its own throat with its free’d claw. A soft gash, thinly-lined with blood fell away dramatically from beneath its mask. Everything had gone utterly wrong--haywire, and Artemis had witnessed everything turn to shit within a handful of seconds. She was bound by guilt and failure; left staring at her inactive hands--unable to accept the reality of having not done enough, unwilling to see past the initial wounds and forgetting that a simple step, held dire consequences as to what was considered viable options and reasons. She hadn’t asked the patient how they had been doing. The negligence would ultimately be considered emotionally forbidden.

"O no, o no...I can fix this!"--Artemis was left working through the motions; saying little and dressing wounds--wanting to observe the "superficial wounds", and needing to finish lowering the massive body--still dangling by an arm. She had no choice but to look away, to detach from the severity of what was happening in those moments. The clamoring of a woman fulfilling a detail, and a dangling body seemed chilling to say the least--its imagery was gore-filled, tear-filled...one of Artemis fighting off choleric rants--because the timing seemed to be in bad-taste, forbidden.

A freed body fell limp with death...landing in a pile of golden spectacle and a heap of beautiful wasted efforts. The circling swarms of silver birds fell from the sky in an instant, as their target had finally been eliminated. The futile relationship was terminated before it was even given a chance. Artemis hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye--she cradled the matted fur, attempting to hold limp hands, in the way Athena had always done for Artemis as a toddler. Small gestures of comfort brought a decent reflection of a distant woman; afraid of what it meant to admit their words of hope-filled love.

Artemis would never wish them the pain of holding a lifeless body, or rocking back-and-forth with madness. Artemis was left with more questions than judgements--since the lion had committed a sin of selfishness by taking its own life. The stranger had no way of knowing that Artemis occasionally took things so personally. Her expectations in others lowered faster than the birds that had gone dormant all at once. She had returned to being invisible, and the harm projected by the falcon-eyed mechanisms: classified as unimportant, without reason; its true objective forbidden.

Artemis gently returned to handling her deceased confidant--trembling hands now doubted what was considered delicate care. Artemis began weeping on behalf of a stranger; ashamed of her failures in saving the innocent beast of a woman. She knew nothing about the person that had patiently listened to her endless tales of woe. She had burdened the beast on its last day on Earth. The fate Artemis feared the most: now lying lifeless, unable to faces its crucified environment of judgement. She held the beast upon her knees--bowing over; attempting to console a fleeting moment where nothing had gone right. She readied herself up to prepare for cardiopulmonary resuscitation--clamoring away to breath life into an unwilling patient, because inaction would leave her walking a narrow medical path of implicitness. Such cold-heartedness was medically and morally forbidden.

Artemis avoiding looking at the trail of blood lined along its neck, drying blood gave the appearance of a necklace, ruby and crackling. She moved its golden mane--only to have the lions mask fall away with a light disheartened thud. Artemis stared down at herself, or someone that looked uncannily familiar to herself...aghast as to what it could mean. Rapid thoughts took over--firstly, moving from the acceptance that she may be duplicate, or cloned for whatever reason. Her bottled despair and emptied emotions would make more sense if that had been the case--further proving to the world why the sciences had deemed such procedures to be immoral and forbidden.

Artemis thought of a specific memory--a flashback to her work at the Augean Stables. She was busy scrubbing away at the stalls, and had overheard something that confused her to no end. She had met a small familiar girl--following her from behind a dream; needing landing technique whilst falling through the night sky. Artemis had put her palms to the ground, showing the small girl how to break a fall. The girl pestered her mother with whispers, as she piped excitedly over her obvious hushes--that she had seen Artemis star in a horse show at the stables. Artemis remembering how comforted she felt knowing that the girl had broken a spell of madness. Recalling scenes filled with gears and cogs, and beautiful dreary forests; a portrait of a tragic cinéma vérité. Artemis awoke with no proof that her surroundings were simulated, outside of the gifted conclusion of a fourth wall tumbling down. The acknowledgement of such had been the caging parameters of a social experiment that was considered dubious, not family friendly, and forbidden.

The young girl had made herself known, staring in Artemis’s direction--holding wide-eyes, graced with the elegance of a famed half-breed and her spectacular boas and bows. Artemis laughed to herself--unable to comprehend the idea of her life as an average-looking-woman...crooked spine and all, cleaning porcelain and shoveling waste. Hard working people rarely got the opportunity to claim center stage. Artemis tucked away the weird day in her memories, and wondered why the girl had mentioned a premise of a girl and her mother with such convincing overview. It would not be the young girl, but her mother--that had made the situation appear sketchy or unconvincing. The mom was trying to undo what her child had said aloud, but failing to discourage the child from her rant. The unpredictable honesty of children was a situation that any parent could relate to, because children weren’t able to manage excitement to meet characters in the reels filled with heroes and their shitty quests for love.

Artemis said nothing, but reminded herself--that children have no reason to lie. She had pocketed the odd comment, and went about her day--shoveling shit at the stables without really thinking about for a while. The far-fetched idea that Artemis could be a prima ballerina in the moving stills: being overshadowed by her surrounding shit-filled reality, and her blissful daydream considered to be a waste of time--forbidden.

Here in her arms--lay the only problem without solution. The seed of evil itself. Parents and their cloaked selfishness, excuses keeping them warm and protecting them from looking into the eyes of their own children. Artemis had nothing but pity for the woman laying around doing nothing--because that’s all she had done in life. To be uncareful with ones actions--left another person suffering in unmentionable pain. Much like the whole of Artemis’s childhood, her birth mother had overshadowed every thought, every emotion, and lay its hairy burden onto Artemis--rendered unfit to hold up even the corpse of someone, that could care less about her own well being. Unlike her mother, Artemis decided to grieve the loss of life--forgiving a woman that would rather take her own life, than to apologize to a motherless child. Even in death, the woman had nothing to offer--not even the dignified words meant for someone worthy of answers, a person longing to be see, be held, and given the slightest chance at understanding love.

Artemis had spent most of her life attempting to avoid her own daydreams-- she scanned the scenery for clues: doubting reality. She had made it a habit to run away from the madness, whenever it made too-much-sense for her to ignore. Much like her shitty life: she took in the irony that she was only familiar with the skin of beast draped over the dead woman. Olobor--the missing lion was more precious to the world, than the life of a woman that had done nothing in life. Artemis felt an embarrassing amount of rage--wondering how the stranger had managed to be an inconvenience in her last moments, exacerbated by mere idea of having to admit; Artemis had survived the worst the world had to offer--and decided to move past such trauma, armed with an entire army of Indigenous Warriors and three pale strangers. Three Kind-Hearted individuals that had stepped up to the task of parenting when Missy had failed. Artemis had nothing to say to a decaying body that had set her up for failure, to a parent allowed the world a demarcated chance to deem Artemis as an untrustworthy threat to society. Artemis had numbered tears to spare for a person that was too fucking indifferent to provide a child with the common decency of love.

Even in moments of isolation; Artemis was unable to find comfort in being alone. Everyone seemed so ready to fear her. The world had given Dianne a sickness of Truman, and Artemis was just the secondary character to such strange madness. She observed how those in passing talked to one another, and gave each other a heads up, as to why Artemis possibly appeared to be naked. They’d brazenly gesture the rules of her silver prison--chopping away with their bladed hands to each of the four directions. Explaining that she was unable to see someone that trailed behind her, unwilling to take hold of a Golden Apple teased by a towering man. The citizens had spoiled a social experiment, mixed it with the turmoil provided by celebrity and boredom. They had decided Artemis was a fucking idiot a long time ago--and so she trapped them all in a prison of her mind, left to be judged by the public, and unknowing that their skittishness had single-handedly ruined everything. The reality of such unveiling would bring a trickster smile to her face, weeping through blood-filled tears and knowing she provided the solution to a simulation built upon a baseless theory of parental love.

Artemis had pieced this together slowly, using outdoor activities--for an excuse to take a consensus, as to view what the parameters were--in whatever beta-testing-bullshit imprisoned her. She’d hide away and create an aura of exclusivity, an unofficial announcement of her location; immortalized her world with golden tiaras that could only be captured with a yellow snap. The citizens would follow her desperately, as they sought to wear matching laurel wreaths with Artemis for a day. Such cheap tricks were unimpressive, considering Artemis voluntarily dressed in themed colors to match a niece named Mama-Bear every week--a hobby that had been started when her niece was drooling away, throwing temper tantrums and looking at an auntie with hopeful eyes. Artemis was forever content, holding the hand of the memory of such a joyous baby--smiling and agreeing that she understood Artemis and her need to provide the world with love.

The depression that followed Artemis had been a long-term effect of being treated as a zoo animal by the general public. They had shamelessly stole her soul with each click, and confirmed that she was never going to be considered anything more than a whore on display. Artemis cried in her tiredness; eventually letting herself gaze down at the slain lion with respect. The two had been victims to their circumstances, and their punishments to be delivered without dignity or outcry left them painting the world in black and white. She moved the long hair of the unmasked person aside, and felt a breath clench tightly in her chest. The masked stranger hadn’t been a duplicate or future traveling being, but her own mother. Artemis had accidentally protected, and later slain the famed Nemean Lion. The beast met with her own past, and fell victim; burdened by its own truths and inaction. It was in this moment, that Artemis could confirm: she had been an unwilling participant, in a fucked up experiment that had once been legally condemned as forbidden.

A Yurok story once told of an optical virus, one which stole the sun from the sky. Artemis relived the nightmare, believing it to be true to an extent. The world saw the sun to be warm, offering protection of a shield from external attacks. To Artemis, the sun was filled with static--a sphere that was there in theory, but its warmth left unattainable on the sunniest of days. "I can’t see the sun!" Artemis felt static fill her eyes, brimming over with tears and the unsettling fact that nobody cared that virus began attacking her immune system all at once. Her parents had hated every fiber of her being, down to reluctant hairs that refused to stay ungrown. Their absence had made her sickened with worry, and vulnerable to attacks from dangerous people and their immediate environment. To be a fostered orphan, meant you were often seen as unworthy of the rays of sunlight. Those impacted by the sun-less virus; held difficulty in holding jobs, an array of health problems, and a black-and-white understanding of such a warm love.

Next Chapter: [ XX ] Artemis and the Mares of Diomedes