Artemis begged the world to be kind--reminded them that they were smart, and affirmed every scholar and independent-thinker, that they were each meant to be important. The lessons she had learned from her best friend Roro with the gestures of a few pats on the back. A baby forever: she still had dreams aboot the dream duo taking over the world of science, and nightmares when her mind attempted to lay trick-or-trap; with prop versions of an infant in need of her assistance. She’d awake from arguments and sweet moments shared with Orion--pawing beside herself to find a giant in her bed, and wondering why she couldn’t remember his name in the depths of slumber. The dreams had become too vivid for comfort, and it left Artemis avoiding sleep and writing at extreme costs: if it wasn’t Orion laying beside her...than who was it? Standing along an avoidant edge was dangerous way to live: a skill used by the brilliant...to squeeze the life from their brain power by the trade of wearing someone down. The early signs of disaster allowed Artemis the temporary strength pulled from the pages of lessons learned; through reels of mistakes and highlight--prepared to let go of a romanticized novel and restore the time needed to sprint towards a better future.

Artemis cracked her neck from side to side once more, as she watched the Boar begin to dry-hump the unwilling citizens once more. It was comforting--knowing she wasn’t the only one having a hard time learning from past mistakes. He’d rub a mushroom shaped-penis up upon them slyly; providing free tea bags without the tangible tea. The sore winner began to beg for contributions in his re-elections, and threaten their voting rights if they dared question their options: forever making ill-intended jokes about a third term. He was the nasty reality of what it meant to lower one’s standards--if only for the night; and to wake up and be forced to grin and bear in the unsettling moments; where a stranger is nakedly invested in someone else’s future.

This was freedom at its finest--winning at all and any costs. His thugs had resorted in thuggery, as a thug often does: stripping the educational programs on behest of the citizens--dismantling random things around the house like a lost soul looking for items to pawn or trade. The fix being accolades and self-servicing. There was no trade-value that better postured the citizens for a successful future.

She had crafted fair-assumptions: by observing their ability to fall in line with local and federal laws from afar: entering as an essential worker, when others were being forced to stay in their homes under quarantine--the threat of death meant nothing when compromising the social lives they had meticulously crafted. The world held its breath--disaster lay on the horizon, and there was no one to blame, no person in charge of the masses. It was amazing that the older generation had survived this long; quite frankly. Artemis felt more annoyed than ever by this one particular bitch named Betsy-Loo-Who: her stupid bitch-ass smile was triggering to a woman swimming in student loan debt. It bothered her deeply to know that such entitled losers were placed in charge of defining the financial direction of her scholarly future.

Artemis had once pranked the crazy-eyed woman by using her dreams--to use particles of Boson to jump from nightmare to nightmare and lightly nudge homies to set an atrocious yacht free from a port: a harmless, yet efficient expression of her love for pranks, appreciated by the Republic that excitedly reported on the silliness Artemis had conspired through fragments labelled as ill-intent; the fiber cables of morals that lay near one another in bundles. It left Artemis frustrated with her limited options: using only the fiction-laced book to rub upon the faces of strangers in anguish--a failing administration were the sweaty ball-sacks dangling without constraints to a limp-dicked Chief. Artemis openly despised the woman that had used a government position, to illegally force religious terrorism upon the otherwise uneducated citizens: proof that she giddily wished to burn down the world with paler privileged ignorance.

Artemis didn’t have time for this shit--the pinnacle of rage had turned past the dial of cordially accepted; the moment the woman with an unhinged smile began to illegally steal tax-returns. The towering heap of debt deferred by default, harming no one--until it was all stolen on behalf of the bitch named Betsy. Where did it go? Twas a mystery...worth writing ten books about. She was unable to be deterred by the law--the lobbied efforts to win were finally paying off...Betsy was as untouchable, in the same depth of corruption as the scarecrow boy--married to the daughter of the Mechanical Boar. The depths of evil in self-preservation had drafted a fairly hopeless future.

Artemis took up weapons of silver and gold once more: forgetting the woman wouldn’t really be missed, settling on the facts that her aging life already nearing its end, and aiming an arrow at the strange puppet boy instead. The unloading of an invisible bow and quiver of arrows had made Artemis the least guilty of the three parties. Artemis set a scene--walking toward a target and claiming that the enemy refused to go down: crawling upon her stomach and crying out for back up. Between the three--Artemis had more charisma and unmovable morals to comprise an army of three people...painted by a picture where she was forever the youthful, wide-eyed citizen; ready at any moment--to hold a post of reserved offices...to defend the constitutional rights of their shared future.

The Boar had placed a son-in-law in charge of curing an epidemic, despite only holding fair qualifications in bargaining real estate. Artemis slapped herself in the face, and thought aloud “O my Gods. We’re all gonna die”. The Gods of Olympus were obviously testing her anger--Artemis secretly wished that she had never given the boy with a strange voice a single shred of the benefit of a doubt. The point to prove his compliance had backfired heavily, and he was still just really jarring to listen to. No amount of public relations could fix whatever he had going on with his voice and demeanor. Artemis’s splitting of attention between monsters and beasts had left him with a chance at power--where he was able to object to the terms of reality and provide shelter and health to his own family: buying out all the medicine that promised a cure, alongside a cache of medical supplies. Her mercy in letting him show true colors; had left the odd man-boy with a position of opportunity...to find more creative ways to spread his greed and ignorance.

Artemis glared at her weapons with disdain for her scholars’ parents and the citizens that came her way--wondering which of the idiots had voted for the Boar that stood crowned king, and knowing they’d be too cowardly to come forward. There was only disdain in silences as Artemis muttered of her option to vote for Pete--to stand an outlier to a two partied system that kept them enslaved to black-and-white arguments; the needling of right and wrong had taken its toll on the world. The chances at free-will--being of value to herself further down the road meant more then...than it did; in moments surrounded by idiots arguing about an already-failed future.

Artemis had taken her rose-tinted glasses off at last: glaring at everything but the citizens, and began to laugh at their shallow need to break necks to stand in view of a scene improvised or not. She looked outside or past the direction of these endless pale, dead-eyed savages that loved the promises of fame-- they still argued amongst themselves if the past had actually occurred; all the things that had to come to fruition for a baby named Bill. The kick-off blocks for shit talk rarely involoved babies, and Artemis thought it was funny to think of a golden-haired Bill slobbering without the inspiration of young muses. The mess inherited by Artemis had already been in motion at the time she started the race of life. It was obvious that they were unable to comprehend a fair and Just society: life cast with loaded dices...unable to pay off loans and step away from a losing hand---let alone demand a life with universal health care options and a less dramatized future.

Their ability to grow enraged by the fact that equality and Justice for all was still needed, for a few of the citizens to grasp tight to a dismantling cornerstone of freedom. They were divided by color, creed and financial standing; distracted from intellectual conversations while needing proper nutrition, and safe places to learn and heal. The inherited mess of elders had come at a cost--corruption stood at each citizens doorstep, preparing to steal what little powers lay in a single vote; if it meant securing a weird orange and yellow man a kingdom in which to paint with insanity--to tarnish a pristine office with a irremediable future.

Artemis had once almost fell to suicide, hopelessness found in unanswered wishes was no longer her middle name. She proudly took a knee on the rare occasions--to ward off the pain that sprained her lumbar: to find comfort in cursing unnamed Gods in a half-vacant village. She was technically the saner of a scene in motion; the locals were busy battling waves of privilege with a love of self-pity and the abuses of a fatal blue substance. She was no longer willingly battling intergenerational trauma alone, and writing a manuscript that served as proof of her person hood--where words meant more with statistics to hold up the weight of her world. Artemis yelled at these citizens at last: saying only, “ya’ll be normalizing these demagogues by acting like it didn’t happen, and trivializing my own personal struggles by demanding I stay silent when addressing history...keep your shitty Genocidal fall holiday, but don’t act like I’m not allowed to call you out on your ignorance.”

She laughed maniacally at the ungrateful citizens: forgetting her royal status had meant expectations to hold a polite demeanor at all times...to lace all scenarios with love, in battle to the rational fear of looking like a tyrant: there was only room for one Megan in a room of Royals. Artemis knew the power of wording, and traits of being docile in the past--had left her in dangerous positions, or forced to collect the pieces of aftermath of others lack-of-caring; if it meant she, herself was afforded a more stable and authentic future.

Strangers had abused the politeness--smothering it from her smile and laughter, and Artemis had survived countless moments of unease and worrisome sleeplessness. Mistreatment knew no bounds--albeit professional or personal. There were only lessons to be learned--experiences to cultivated in moments where apologies were never to come; in seconds defining whether it was more valuable to carry the truth with someone, and or, to move past it in the hopes of finding a defensive positioning--rooted in the undeserving moments where the impacts of others were easily thrown in a box of tools; utilized to combat future moments of mirroring ignorance.

Artemis had once introduced herself to a tall elderly Presidential candidate named for burning his place in modern history as the stock-image outline of a forever candidate: his inability to say or yell anything at the moment--mistimed passions and a accent meant to address common sense as an earned silence with a patient ear: to a stranger that had tapped a shoulder--meant he had seen her, and all of her nakedly rude glory. They had agreed that the win-now mentality had gotten them nowhere, and doom lingered in the foggy state of influential offices. She had introduced herself as a Princess and thanked him for his service without laughing--suffering from poverty gifted upon birth: this was where they were at as a society. Artemis had overheard interns exclaiming his path wandering down a famous culinary lane: in a false micro city, prized for its fortune cookies--slanted houses and a blood-soaked bridge. He seemed confused by her lack-of-joy; seriousness was held aside when Artemis kept a heavy head high and took the reigns in declaring herself to be the public-face of the youthful future.

Artemis introduced her kind friend Cal, and the pair said goodbye without the need to act starstruck or clamoring for proof of the introduction. She had liked--that they both had untamable hair and a necessity to yell, and found value in explaining to interns the methods earned by trying to become an interesting person--built upon flickering seconds of authenticity, or the occasional bouts of luck when being in the right-place-at-the-right-time. Artemis needn’t brag about their position working under the Blue Shield of Hope--they were meeting a public official off the clock; there was no reason to boast or compare professional dick sizes when they were all three hardened by the need for change and wanting the same future.

Artemis took a moment to read the outdoor room--and noted that the man were annoyed by his own fame somehow; he might of just been hungry. She understood the constraints of patience when enjoying privacy as a citizen, and was able to hold conjecture that the elder wasn’t entirely responsible for everything wrong with the land--he was forever trying his best in a hopeless office, whereas Artemis was a diplomat playing government--under the title of temporary intern. Artemis knew it was probably inexplicably odd for her to be so monotone around political celebrities, but dryness in humor often fell at appropriate times. She left the homie, thinking in wonderment: hoping the man would choose to be on the right side of history; to finally direct his voice and condemn citizens for the travesties of an ongoing Genocide. Artemis didn’t technically feel the Burn: his generation had done so much irreparable damage, and he had been there to witness it all--too calm to turn the tides in the moments where a real leader had been needed. She had said hello in passing, but continued looking for a leader to successfully pull her drowning citizens ashore; each washed-up and exhausted: finally ready to move into soothing waves of a more comfortable future.

Artemis felt pressure to weigh in on the other elders: smiling with a conniving snare as she felt people ask: “what aboot Joe?” Artemis threw her arm in disgust: pshhh...what about Joe she thought, as the man were still mobbing around without accountability for the way he touched and caressed the citizens. Artemis had found one story to be sadly overlooked, and she used her weapons to hug a woman named Tara. Artemis had been a victim of convenience, and understood the need to apply a statute of silence without reasoning. She wondered why nobody cared enough to sleuth on Tara’s behalf. Joe had gone on to groping random citizens, and attempting to shake-off his born title: boomer. More concerned about protecting his weird-ass son, than situating a more profitable, and stable future.

Artemis openly disliked his face, and wished to punch his overly bleached teeth whenever she caught him laughing--the separating lines of parenting and enabling a criminal wasn’t an idea worth warming up to. She had developed this anger after observing him bragging--flaunting affiliations to his one African American friend at any chance he could. Both he and the Mechanical Boar held the stranger at arms lengths; propping him up in public moments--to strip blame or build rapport with an otherwise indecisive future.

Grandma Wanda had once said: “If you don’t have at least one black friend in twenty-nineteen...then you are the problem.” Artemis laughed at such honest wisdom, as her tone bore no suggestion that she intended to apologize or end the monologues that flowed with finesse. Artemis had halfheartedly joked of her approval of Joe and recanted by saying: Sykes. Such leaders as Wanda were admired by Artemis, as she had found her own way to yell at randoms: “this is not normal.” It was the same feeling of discomfort that etched into her life whenever strangers asked Artemis of her ethnicity; or placed her in moments of admiration--famed for what little excellence she brought to a table of colored people, as the token of light-skinned glory...the afterthought; when placing people in categories and filling conversations with points of acceptance marked by data. Most days, Artemis was stuck between two cultures...one where a mixed race was held captured in a few genetic traits, and the other--in a life where she hid away from the sun in laboratories or rooms for editing poems in the rain. She had wasn’t sure where her successes lay on a scale of reason--when surrounded by an overwhelming amount of unreasonable people, and wasn’t able to really articulate or find pride in the efforts taken to secure a more diversified future.

Artemis had been raised by women of colour named Sandy--but, only after informing the authorities that a false maternal figure, funded by the State: was sympathetic to ethnic supremacists and an outright child abuser. The lady named Hera had once clutched her only book, as she demanded Artemis admit that she were stupid--screeching questions as to whether she were retarded or just lazy. Artemis stood frozen in moments where a strange woman lunged and clawed at her face; hissing "look at me!" and wondering why there was no love-loss in a forced relationship...swaddled in physical abuse and racial ignorance.

The woman had escalated her hatred daily and eventually forced Artemis to eat insects when she refused to bow in admittance--objecting to the Notion that ungratefulness had anything to do with a youth; impacted by the blind faith that life would get better. There had to be more to life...than caring about the pathetic opinions of faceless neighbors and religious zealots. Artemis had seen these citizens for all that they were: watching as adults made definitive choices to abuse and neglect children...herself included. The persecution of their indifference would become a well-known truth on the large scaled picture of history. Elders had protected each other with their selective silence--up until this point in the story, as they pretended that Artemis and fellow orphans were never destined to survive past eighteen, unfairly written off to be expected tax-paying citizens in the future.

Artemis pointed at the slew of elders she denounced, the countless old people that avoided her strangely politically correct novel: hearing their rumbling chants once more: “what aboot Joe?”. Artemis just shook her head in disgust. “Fuck Joe.” She was so tired of people needing answers to unsolvable problems without fair solutions--the beds unmade by the perverted hands of voters, easily convinced that the lesser of evils meant anything outside of a panicked and pain-filled future.

She stood atop the famed bridge that dripped with blood at last: yelling at the citizens in a spell of desperation, and pleading that they stop setting precedence for the Albino Snake that silently hissed into the ear of the Mechanical Boar--his creepy love for his mother, or a man with a tightening face. The encroaching of danger wasn’t a skill of survival that citizens flexed very often. Artemis saw crooked fangs protruding from the thin-lipped snake, as he grew restless in the grass: sitting in the shadow of the Boar, and bidding his time if it meant a chance at claiming a throne. The extremities of his sexual preferences had rendered him harmless; unable to wiggle past the confusion of calling one’s wife "mother" or vice versa. The state of formidable allies was in the hands of a few weird men, busy obsessing over the effects of gravity upon supple skin to actually care about the arising future.

His ego had caught her attention--he was unable to hold a boot to the throat of reason; unwilling to condemn treason in the face of the truth. Artemis gave him visions where crowds chanted his name; knowing he believed that it should be the same size font as that of the Boar: normalizing his perverse extreme religious views and averting from addressing the intent placed when his name was prefaced with the word "hang". Artemis had wanted him to take value in chaos he had stirred in reeds of Democracy--to cherish the gift of living peacefully and without titles in his near-future.

The escapism of coliseums meant to showcase international talents in wielding an orange sphere could define a handful of decades, on and off wooden courts. The marbled offices meant to house the officials in charge of a broken system couldn’t fix itself--there was nowhere to negate blame when life was dialed to the pay-to-play settings. The power of yelling in disbelief of discord was more agreeable, more palpable when removing grains of truth from a stock of information--before the era of a lull in talented pooled people had been placated as acceptable all-around, sloppy in its seasonal execution of calls. The misgivings of proper treatment and the correlation of financial compensation; created an environment reared and ready for corruption, and rascistly steeled chains to an unforgiving timeline--the unresolved angers of unaddressed mistreatment; left whole generations of athletes to fester away and bloom in parallel motion to the background of such poetic and political scenery. The intertwined introductions and absentees would be fundamental in the near future.

Artemis had taken a moment to appreciate the sacrifices made unionized athletes--if only to joy in watching someone as bored by his own athleticism and label him the lucky number fifteen. She was part of the sleeping-giant generations; babied by older siblings--muscle memory gifting her words to be graceful and foundational in self-awareness. The moments of naps had built anticipation for healthy and thoughtful conversations; as to the importance of good company--and professional boundaries: seasoned with blind brevity. The public ridicule of sportsmanship could be opening scenes meant to crack upon the surface of time; holding a captivated audience to reach its full volume and potential. A world of unfair treatment could be monitored by larger grains of truth; where the color of one’s skin had nothing to do with athletic ability--when the Butler effect elevated an entire generation. Moments where Artemis could tell Athena of hurts and pains; to be met with apologies and only the hopeful solution of recognizing a problem to be true--stored away for safe keeping at a young age at least. A wave of caring and quieted children had paved the way for those like Artemis: wearing plaid, and gentrified athletic gear--trading a poem worth its weight in gold; to spin a leather sphere without a care in the world and hope one’s efforts in practice would somehow be enough. They had walked on set to a stage aflame with flickering moments of disapproval from an under-diagnosed generation--forced to drag along a league and legacy under the microscopes of overbearing and unpleasing elders did their little dance on hindering the overall progress of the future.

The citizens were like small grains of wheat: the parting in seeded efforts were depicted by one’s commitment to sadism on any given day; in a multitude of ways, measured by everything colliding with nothing. Her two worlds were separated by a reflection: unfamiliar with a public smile and an unapologetic love for a sport that never returned such love. Recognition of fair-efforts often brought tears to her tired eyes--she felt undeserving of praise; having grown up in an emotionally abusive home...where the skill of throwing a ball and being a decent teammate wasn’t enough to rectify opinions to be of supportive or kind nature. Artemis had taught herself; self-rewarding behaviors in the act of sleep; powering down her body if it meant an unconscious vessel took less verbal damage. She had a big sister once correct skew grains of mistruths and projections to be outside the limits of professional calls; hearing a whimpering sibling saying childlike things such as "I do what I want"...storing words away for the rainiest of days--where parents, the referee of life’s unstaged environment were busy dealing with personal shit on the sidelines.

Artemis won over the day with self-discipline, routine--and the subtle and ever-present issue of a gum infection could easily extend the editing hours to extended easily over half-a-decade. The edits crafted around self-forgiving moments previously reserved for unlimited flicks of a confident wrist were easily separated by terms and services of offices: pained faces were a commonality in both places. She had come from a life where going to work--was more notable than any occupation; carved in time as living the athletic dream at times. The pedestal of unrealistic expectations had taken its toll on a her developing mind; she had practiced the skills of arched words--walking though the unkempt secrets of sleeping giants, admitting to fumbled passes and occasionally just waking up with world domination on the mind. The skilled frankness of clocking-out of the bullshit circus was noteworthy of their timeline--specifically, when real hobbies and priorities waited at home. Artemis had arrived as a shooting star--tailed with colorful words, a passion for competition; chained to the limitations of time and the newly learned skills of living in the moment and minding one’s own business. The art of following through, setting boundaries at a realistic pace, and the box-ing out of unprepared strangers from one’s hand-crafted legacy meant Artemis was part of a golden future.

The heaping weight of their synced voices offered unlimited potential--the acceptance that reality occasionally had to get worse--to ask for better came to grains of a splitting reality; when things like relationships separated entire worlds from one another...the choices of ascribed efforts came into the spotlight; bearing down unto the land until it reflected their needs be met. There became an expectation of raised accommodations-for the agreed terms an service to align with the iron clad signatures of the citizens that trusted that entities and established--the once consistent enough systems were in a teetering motion. A Cold Harbor of truth was the illusions of free will--when trapped on doomed timeline; forced to swallow the pill of reality when accepting such a plateaued playing-field. The swaying winds of change rarely pulled grains of profit in favor of those willing to do the work of two people--but a whole generation had showed up...if it meant older generations would shut the fuck up when deciding whether to shit on an entire generation in the near future.

Why had the citizens forgotten the Democracy they had committed Genocide for...Three Generations of Brooks women wasn’t that longstanding of a Tradition. Gold had only been recently been discovered from the rivers along the Klamath--destiny had only recently begun manifesting into a trail blazon with true patriotism. The albino snake had tricked the citizens by calling himself the lesser of two evils--the least conspicuously deviousness that warranted trust, while branding himself as untrustworthy, but trustworthy enough. Artemis didn’t worry too much about a snouted elder--trapped in a playful routine straw-man duties; rung in on the split attention and nowhere to find fair comforts. A Mechanical Boar, and the forever adjacent full-grained wealth that held stocks over fictitious trades and buyouts of numbered assets were incompatible when holding conversations as to the enterprises of digital assets--and the crowds of fed-up consumers that finally took the reigns on an unbridled system. There were so many strangely familiar ways to dictate a shared future.

The citizens had accidentally sprung a bolt of truth from the neck of the Mechanical Boar; asking simplistic questions as to his professional past in business operations...his whiteness held in the clutches of their upturned flag indefinitely--that was the opening scene for Artemis’s understanding. A number two man could be painted blurred and unmemorable in the background; the squeamishness of two separate men were interchangeable to a never ending story. She could paint both in scary robes of the past; to hold pilgrimage on their own terms--villages a flame in background to vast grins of true malice. Artemis had returned to this particular moment in time; reborn from the ashes of periled timelines; to fight a famed monster as an outcast in life--interruptible confidence holding up to the dotard-ed and deprecating encounters with elders needing validation in their wronged theories. She took pride in being crafted in a marbled time where the rebutte to bullying was as simple as accepting partial truths--to chip away at the bigger picture. To be called a loser, a burden to society-a participant of a strained welfare system by outdated personalities; and to step back as reclaim one’s own peace. To say "sure, but how does that impact you so deeply?"--Artemis liked the idea of elders eating their own words, placing feet in their gaping mouths as time caught up to a digital future.

He had cast a charm upon himself, and tethered himself to the Boar for infinity. The Albino Snake was the Jerry to the Mechanical Boars forever foe: Joe, but the homophobe version. There wasn’t enough time in the day to wear enough hats and keep smooth sailing on ominous waters--sports were all the citizens had to distract from the ugliest of scenarios. The concept of worst case scenario were manifested from the things Artemis noticed in her daydreams: branching along a stem of hopelessness. She entered the world; surrounded by elders deflecting blame...listening with a patient ear for gratitude to bind the plentiful parts of history, and walking away from moments of unwarranted and avoidable confrontations. She took fair-intentions to do the right thing, and whispered to the following generations--a slight worry, of how they came to exist on the curtained tails of such a exhaustively strenuous future.

Artemis did her battles in an unorthodox fashion--providing endless entertainment by a simple action of holding up a hand to whisper; and actively choosing not to do so. There was no rational way to fight foreign religious terrorists, and an unforgiving volume seemed to be the least harmful of shaming methods. It was easier to display the opposition of intent in words to actions by making silly occurrences to be the lesser of nonsense-laced sins being committed in a short amount of time; forever holding a sense of pride in being part of the unserious holders of an already torched future.

A war-bent stranger had made himself known in field of wheat and starched crops. Slimy tongues--charmed the masses with few words and chants, demanding that they break their own domestic Treaties to the Indigenous Warriors; Artemis had stood back and said as little possible...shaking a finalized head and saying the two most powerful of words "absofruitly not." Such blatant silliness had no place in what little projections and analogized markets awaited in her untapped earnings. The lines of definitive lowliness had been scored upon the tempered glass-faced machine of time: the concepts of collapsing barely working systems to integrate one’s that didn’t even exist held little value in their potential future.

"Jail...straight to jail", the broken languages of the Indigenous Warriors meant little; until it meant everything in crucial times. He had successfully begun to rally the citizens and demanded her lynching, as proof of his religious superiority--anyone that fell out of range from a scope of YTness had to go. Their presence erased from history books as he slithered along; Artemis just happened to be one of the name’s he stumbled upon. A credible career in marketing and delivering upon a project of unlimited Ingenuity meant nothing--if Artemis was to remain incapable of being more white than brown in the future.

The tides of violence had turned, slowly--whipped over by the antics of free-to-play strategies. The ushering of a play to extinction had been washed in diversity; the reigns of power handed over to men like Nico--struck with greed and an obsession with perfunctory trades and deals. The world became balanced by the words of people color; stating excuses through purge-filled smiles...addressing the urge to burn one’s own village down...for the sake of tomorrows profit projections. The branding of weak self-reproach belonged to the aging generations that walked before Artemis; chained by a profusion of ignorance and self-grandeur. The boom of destruction that held back whole secular parts of popular culture; their rotting organs stinking up the an entire unwritten future.

Artemis laughed at the citizens--time was to be their only savior: impartial to their bullshit agendas--talent was in abundance; bidding time in the reeds of debt, holding down the sidelines of life. Artemis knew the value of having a tactical advantage in holding a court within her own home--she wore apotropaic white robes defensively, roaring with anticipation as she sprinted into each of the battlefields. The illusion of financial strata could barely reach her upon wooden courts. She had been raised to be awarded for participation; and became the show by wanting everything a little bit more than the pale counter-parts weaving through the motion of monotonous plays and practices. The simple gleam of determined eyes and few unabashed grins could and would often bring out the worst in her opponents--there was a no argument to be had when conservative notions superseded the shit attitudes of younger athletes, because there was time for distinction to define the difference between those preserving core traits that worked--and and entitled individuals that played with the intent of carving out the need for sportsmanship in the near future.

The outstanding elders that had sacrificed their lives for the fringe benefits of freedom had taught Artemis the advantages of home court. No man or woman was to hold all powers in any environment--sans the cursed family the chose to live in circles of inbreeding to claim property. Their environment was controlled by a larger beast; a hydra storing wealth and knowledge to preserve the worlds order. The world seemed unaware that they were being held captive to a timeline; guarded by three somewhat-wise sisters...The youngest attempting to map or make reasons out of the rules and regulations of life, and the middle sister--explaining the rules of such a childish game were defined by a long story, and the eldest expelled from life early by her own choices--forced to witness Artemis crawl through life, grief stricken and broken from simulated sidelines.

There was art to Artemis’s slow blinking; the conversion of useless information could be visually tracked each time weird citizens said shit like “that’s just the way it is”, or “thoughts and prayers”--those offended easily by the detachment of culty behaviors when praising a single piece of cloth. Society fell stagnant on all fronts; its energy sucked dry--bidding the hands of time to do the work needed to correct a tipping scale. Artemis had once picked up a empty casing; hands trembling...knowing the terrors that followed. Instead of arming the Indigenous Warriors of the destructive tools; she readied storage armories...asking for the citizens to occupy Traditional lands, to trust the enemy of their future enemy if it meant they would remain with the rights to bear arms in upcoming future.

The clash of cultures, or the collision of a rich culture absorbing the conversations of a less-well worded group of people lacking-in-culture had set a stage for Artemis. When citizens excused moral scruple, Artemis dropped a kind smile and whispered in all seriousness..."they will take everything, and burn your home down with you in it." The threat wasn’t meant to accuse the current generations; but to remind them of the depths of corruptions that had already spilled the blood of millions of locals on their behalf. There was nothing left to pillage, outside of the few rights of the outstanding citizens...and a Mechanical Boar had already set his beady eyes on the prizes awarded to whatever random played by the rules of a Criminal Investigation Agency, the lobbyist that fucked him from behind, and a need to gift his weird "children" with a promising future.

The Boar crowned king had once failed in managing a Casino, and the Indigenous Warriors elders began to puff their chests with inaction and corruption. The small battle was won; because the house always wins. The iron clad ink found upon lost or hidden treaties had brought an entire community to the frontlines; forced to ride upon their steer and hold friend-less conversations with honored judges and a few kind intellects to hold the line of acceptability as to what bare minimum meant. The compunction of such bottomless greed would eventually bleed over to wooden courts--their battles left to those such Artemis, to be discussed in graduate level lectures...holding a firm tone of defiance when explaining the due-process of treaty limitations. There was no argument to be had, when debating the hopeless cause of one woman and her minion share holder; imploding almost a decade of teamwork...to provide true discomfort to their best athlete--by way of isolation and intimidation, all done to prepare for Casino that could never exist. The prizes of unspoken wealth had woven itself around the citizens; demanding they gamble their hard-earned and heavily taxed earnings, or risk the smothering of an entire team.

Artemis had fought endless elders with outdated “Traditions” and methods: wondering why they had abandoned the matriarchal government that they had once called a War Council. One woman’s acquisitiveness could bring fair-reasoning to the dismantled concept of female power. Some people had never heard the word no, or been told the limitations that existed to keep the waters of locals calm and still for generations upon generations. Artemis was on the far end of such a scale; held up and dragged along by other women and studious youth that took turns assisting the crafting of unforgiving poems--needed to pull ranking by way of common sense, and a gusto for representation that was held in fairness on behalf of an unclaimed future.

The Indigenous Warrior women had put the Wo in Woman, and the word had seeped into all languages--eventually, repackaged by pale strangers wandering from the east or by those washing up upon Crescent shores. The female icon painted in caves; reminded them that their cursed language depicted a woman being ripped into two in a single letter, consumed by a pictogram of female with life building in the womb; cradled by gentle-handed pride. There were few things that frightened Artemis in life: and the act of a high-risk in mortality willingly occurring for nine months at a time was something she often looked past...needing the worries of intestines in bowls along her bedside, or the fracturing of a pelvis line to be a concern for a later time. She was in no rush to run that race--since there had yet to be suitor to arrive in her life, to offer the support and caring needed to embrace such a pain-filled day in the future.

She observed these forgetful bipartisan citizens with disdain--they were the unwanted guests, loitering when the holiday festivities were clearly over--avoiding leaving at all costs. These citizens lived with joyous privilege in knowing that they didn’t have to clean up after the wine-filled festivities, as they barfed all over her property and giggled--telling locals from the North and South to go back to where ever they came from, or at least clean up after their slobby ways. Artemis rubbed her temple in stress of the situation: leaving her own house to rot, its delicate wood tarnished by the acidity of vomit. She walked off-set indefinitely: instead of placing it under quarantine, or cleaning their nasty shit and vomit as it accumulated...she invested in mirrors as a departing gift. Their nasty living conditions could be mirrored by the depth of their sober ignorance.

These were the mean-hearted things she thought whenever citizens imposed themselves into her life with their religious nonsense, xenophobia, or attempted taking part of her journey by token-ed pride. The citizens that shamelessly proved themselves thirsty, by throwing themselves in her path without organic introduction--they had caught glares and curses of death for impeding a sound mind for clout. Artemis was only peeved by privilege and dishonesty, and the citizens often proved her right...time after time: expressing that their selfishness were as blatant and intentional, as their commitment to remain uneducated, impoverished and ignorant.

Artemis found her target: wondering why he said so little and avoided the limelight at extreme lengths--approaching the slithering man with caution: lying as she informed an Albino Snake of her intentions to join his “Space Force". He refused to look up at her from his bladed grass, and it forced her to pick him up and to place him upon the cement--in the hopes that he’d be stepped on by the real politicians or scorched by the sun; enemy numba one to those with paler skins. The scaly man was currently busy--attempting to avoid the nuclear war that the Boar kept hinting at, and scrambling to find a cure for the virus that slowly devoured the world. He was unable to hear the words of a woman agreeing to hold a title of officer--having gouged his own ears and eyes out; blind to all things female, worried to upset his "mother" wife and the implications of what it meant to have women take part in his rendering of a bleak future.

She said to him once more: “I work in science: specializing in human psychology and additive manufacturing. I’d like to join your stupid space force ma’am.” Unsure of the sex of the snake and attempting to be inclusive at extreme costs: knowing it would hiss and correct if a man was behind the wheel of such a poisonous entity--eager to talk penis availability as fragile men often did. The snake finally looked up at her beaming smile and hissed in corrective tone: “It’s the Space Corp, and my name is Mike.” Artemis wasn’t amused; as she had never asked for his name. It was irrelevant outside of the posters of bounty on his head, and so she stepped on his tail purposely. Artemis whispered to the Albino Snake: “Listen lady...I don’t know your life, I just wanted to follow-up on this dull ad you posted for a job...I’m just trying to Defend Our Protectors and make your amateur branch safer: this ad has to be a fucking joke--because is appears to be a massive waste of our taxpayer funds. I just figured you would need a specialist to make sure your idiots with weapons don’t lose their shit in territories lacking law and order. You really can’t think this is a good idea--to put a bunch of meat-heads with weapons out of range of any jurisdiction: or are you just excited to see these men rape one another in the future?”

The snake took offense to these statically backed assumptions, and began biting at her ankles in distaste to the crassly chosen words. Artemis would always call it “his” Space Force with childish implications, and depended on the two words to bait the Albino Snake from leaving the famed slab of wood he had burrowed in. The dude really liked seeing his name on shit, and so Artemis etched his full name to be a part of the title Space Force. There was no need to pander humor in serious settings--and, she was unwilling to let the citizens forget that they had turned over their profits and successes to be managed by a weird guy that like rebranding shit if it meant his dick got hard and his name was cemented in the history books of the future.

The snake would squirm and cringe in annoyance whenever he had to say the two words in public: his own folly in letting the Mechanical Boar give a little project a name--the vanity had been stripped by the naming of an aimless and pointless branch of the Polis, attempting to husk away the legitimacy of half-a-century of Federal offices accomplishing the impossible for the sake of inspiring the future.

The Boar had childishly landed upon the title Space Force--probably because the simplistic words were easy to remember, and Artemis had added theatrical vogue-like hand gestures for fun. She barely existed, in the same constructs as the offices tucked out-of-sight, and out of the minds range of the gouged citizens...noticing little; forgetting the causation of a public unrest: tossing tea into a cold-harbor. Taxation and frugality fell heavy on the common man; provided time to learn about filing and automated services...breaching of personal information would come at cost. Every turn and twist while sprinting down a red-lined hallway felt like eternity; with each small battle being drawn out, and painted with indistinct zeros and unsettling distrust in the entities in preserving the near future.

The snake would attempt to wrap himself around her feet--believing the method of intimidation would lesson the boot pressing to his throat: adding pressure to her already destroyed spine by straining an overworked nervous-system, as she temporarily knelt down in pain. The world had always found ways to deter her efforts--professionally, academically, athletically; as if attempting to clear a path for less diverse citizens by fouling an intellectual asset and reserving her place upon a bench...forced to be disciplined along life’s sidelines.

Artemis didn’t take kindly--to unruly monsters attempting to fuck up her day: tying the beast to a nearby olive tree with a leather magical belt, named after Hippolyta, to tie a generation of lost thoughts to stumping effort. The belt could be seen across the galaxy, as it warned its neighbors of the snake that moved aboot beneath her foot. Both the charmed belt, and Albino Snake slithering and glistened violently--there was nothing left in rooms where failure was decided upon introduction...because someone had to be the loser--to be constrained by the laws of fairness by the separation of talents and efforts. Much like the earned career title of paid athlete--Artemis was left to observe the successes and failures of a corrupt system of leaders, her skills overlooked and undervalued for the sake of those with pale skin and taller features. No amount of trading in athletes could shred the facts that Artemis was under-utilized, forced to accept a life without a professional coach to pull the range of her talent and specific skill sets from the sidelines.

Artemis beaded the Albino Snake some glittering wings, and watched as he hid himself away in a fragile piece of wood: annoyed by the citizens laughing with silent smiles--wondering whether his wife were actually a beard. It mattered none to Artemis; the matter of showmanship was pretty irrelevant off wooden courts. She had politely paid her taxes--pouting a little bit, and being bratty when filing in a timely manner; wondering if the world would casually collapse at the hand of shit leadership, and hoping such a futile hardship would occur preferably after a season of returns gifted the citizens with small grains of financial relief. The few entities Artemis feared--were those that had proven themselves to be legitimate; their internal auditing of revenue services held in high-esteem...since stepping toe-to-toe with such a well oiled machine would be ill-advised to anyone and everyone--the testing of such a strange system was left to the avaricious, the lazy, and the ignorant.

The world had finally heard her pleas of woe--wondering why unfairness was gifted to those that already had everything. She had shrugged and said "why are we even doing this?", and pressed send out of obligation to a taxation system that was ready to collapse at any moment. She had broken the brain of a Mechanical Boar, by asking him a simple-enough question...to explain tariffs--luring out an Albino Snake that had attempted to get in front of the public disaster of a aging, rusty, and outdated Chief of the Land if it meant his legacy as number Two was painted less-ignorant.

The two were a miserable pair, and so Artemis tied the Boar to the olive tree: laughing at the evangelicals bicker as one always urinated on top of the other. The proclivities of a Mechanical Boar took the piss on the values of a creepy Albino Snake--forever eating his own ass as he wandered in aimless circles. The cursed olive tree caused this oddly specific habit, as one beast was aroused by urine and the other agonized by his prudishness. The smell of urine had attracted a sloppy Boar from the lands of the Argonauts--the excuses of an inherited mess would forever hinder two men from achieving anything of value; their contradicting values and conflicting messages hindering each political future.

The black death had been infected; injected into the land-and caged by international laws. The citizens were prisoners to a virus without cure, and pinned at the base of the olive tree--the branches of Democracy shaking in harsh winds; its bountiful olives dropping before reaching tasteful ripening--as a Mechanical Boar rammed his head into the base of the somewhat delicate tree. They were at the mercy of a man that barely understood Democracy, held in the grips of anal Number Two that stood by and did nothing...if it meant a singled chance at a promotion--starting in a lineup where people were unable to contest his creepy hyper-sexualized ignorance.

Artemis yawned at last--bored by predictable men, shriveling penis’s; eager to take a golden axe to previous emotions if it meant an hour of sleep. The scripting of a necromancy nobody had asked for fell from the ranges of priority when bills needed to be paid in timely manner. The concept of there being no rest for the wicked--was proven by aging men, and less so by the citizens that believed in hard-days work. Most days; Artemis was just proud that she had pulled herself into the moment, and left her countless wishes of romance behind. She slept like a log; content without the presence of men like Orion...dismantling her efforts for structure and routine, able to save up for international travel without insecure men overshadowing such aspirational plans for the future.

Artemis slept with the sake of healing her weary heart, and updating her lacking education--refusing to let the world leave her behind. She watched the citizens begin to kneel and hold hands in their State mandated boredom, and avoided worrying about Orion if only for a moment. These few and brave citizens had been the sole reason that elders told Artemis to push aside her biases to their sickly pale skin and dead-eyes...to take pity on those without culture, as they had once been lost at sea and fleeing religious oppression. These citizens were simply people of the world: seeking refuge for their families, the land afforded to only those with bonnets and silver-buckled shoes. True terror could be painted by dialing back the hands of time; to plaster the portrait of an Albino Snake in ruffles and knicker bockers--holding a shameless smile as set entire villages of fire. Artemis tacked their leaders in roles and characters that shape-shifted throughout time; forcing them to witness the true terror of their footsteps. She was forever the lone Warrior running away from the horrors of yesterday--attempting to prepare the next village for the carnage that followed those that corrupted the paths of the future.

Donner parties ran in the coldness of the culture-less; preferences of mortal sacrifices--with its horrendous implications being burrowed away in a generation filled with silver snakes; and a reason to conquers the Indigenous Peoples of Eureka. Artemis smothered the edge of the flame at last: knowing the citizens would never care for her blessed olive glow and mildly askew spine; working in occupations often avoided for their higher than average chances of being stabbed on duty. They’d work diligently to hunt her and destroy the lands she protected, and she cared to dictate tolled gates and property lines for those providing professional security service for chariots of over-priced properties. Life was boiled down to a mundane and routine lifestyle-hiding from a scholastic mob; attempting to claim their ten percent of her hourly pie--the credentials off-balanced to the full-range of opportunities; left disappointment and disproportionate weights of accountability kept the citizens tiered and splintered from the world itself--suffering the symptoms of Stockholm and culture shaped by sharp ignorance.

The promises and guarantees of fine prints; seemed unbearable...the misery of bad company had left the world to be witness to sycophants and endless mayhem at every turn. Liberties fair to the promised pursuits of such happiness had never presented itself as running parallel with reality. The least she could do; was treat her semi-secret literary goals with a part-time effort--to possibly provide a feature play; built to downloaded or borrowed in the digital library within a land of mines at the bare least. The long-term goals of taking such intricate scenes in inner-reflection and to entertain a sarcastic critic named Dylan; to take pride in one’s troublesome nature and make the most out lightening the day up--even if something as simple as a script about avoidable incidents, time travel, and stupid magic--held up enough to pull the focus of an entire genre of unmatched oversight.

Death always had a way of bringing people into Artemis’s life, as her smile was weary and full of false promises for a better future. The idea of memorialized athletic skills and due confidence were easily drafted when plastering competitive poses; holding the world to be a stage in which to showcase fashionable statements--hobbies of rating culinary experiences and providing hospitable concierge services were moments--burrowed away in dreams of a live musical number; spinning with serving trays and rolling bellman...preparing for the upcoming winter at The Benson...complete with a stern manager; stating twirls and high-kicks were a safety hazard upon marble floors, and an inadequate use of time. Such fun had replaced useless dreams of searching for an ex-lover named Orion; allowing armies of randoms to ensue an otherwise unprotected citizen from the the harsh realities when scaling the damages of structural moralities--beat down to a point of exhaustion and eventual abandonment. Time and absence were the only thing that could heal Artemis’s broken heart from the unsettling mischievousness of falling into trap after trap--stumbling to get up time and time again for eternities sake; pirating time and learning how digital investments could provide a comfortable future.

Thoughts of the paths left not taken had finally settled along the edges of time; it soils matted by the practice of boundaries and discipline--Artemis’s love for Orion had been a match made in Hades. Mirroring jealously kept them hand-in-hand on random days. She liked that reality was ok; less sad with his presence in the world. His version of love was the richest thing she’d ever known--trapped in the locked around his neck; chained to his presumptive place in her romantic future.

She’d hide a slight obsession and longing to see him each day, detersive writing in the night painted the other side of a coin--time being held upon a flat surface; bound by the hand of Casey...unable to escape unwarranted stages; dripping with self-centered proclamation and the outdated return of the term witch. The citizens had allowed boundaries of such unwelcoming company to bleed over what should be considered normal--the average expectation of the basic message of such a social contract. The face of such common notion was scribbled upon; defaced by vandalism; chipped away by invasive pecking and the leveraging of times unchangeable ability to feign ignorance.

The Indigenous Warrior was busy being naked and perturbed by her absence: stewing to himself most likely and silently fixing all the things she’d broken throughout the day. He had loved correcting the things she called broken, because of the shamelessness in her ability to lose muscle memory--dropping glasswear to shatter her finely kept illusion; and falling ill with the implications of messing up being reasons for physical abuse to follow soon after. Artemis was unable to lock away the reality of such a pathetic existence; no chest was deep enough to accommodate her tragic life. There was no direct hallway; leading to door marked with fifteen, and a comfortable setting in terms of getting ahead of debts unpaid--or crafting more space between a mob of scholastic loan sharks...Artemis was okay with being single most days; content with the idea of new opportunities in romantic interests in the nearer future.

Artemis watched as the women she called old friends: gossiped of their status once more, and bombarded him with trivial questions. Blushing cheeks often crept along an inflamed jawline when Orion and his whereabouts were antics worth revisiting. The occasional interruption in small-talk would off-balance the more interesting things of her accomplishments. The muses of stating an unknown variable in the larger equation of her life; mumbling about not knowing what he’s up and pulling the reigns of focus to be more about real situations and relationships--their blind mistrust and over trusting ways would leave her torn by the emotions of stirred and separated opinions and her ability to be the thin layer of hydrophilic barriers--unmoving to the tides of reality. He had pulled away, and she had left to pursue a blind belief that something greater; less spite-filled lay ahead in an unknown future.

She smiled at their vindictiveness and avoided reaching for his hand in public settings, as well as in her dreams: mirroring a small closed fist in moments of anxiousness became a trait that felt harmless enough. She had used a failed relationship to provide lateral growth in her as a person knowing it didn’t matter, as he would never...not say yes to his MuMu--he might be annoyed that his likeness was used to play a golden ego; to be used without the pleasures of removing her clothes himself offered as reward. His encapsulating love--didn’t need her to turn back to reflect upon a sliver of time; painted with nostalgia and young love. Artemis pressed forward in life: worn down by a whole generation shouldering the burdens of the worlds problems overnight--acting like the tentative surroundings weren’t brushed by the hands of a failed system. The failures to launch were somehow no one’s fault...because silent enabling had gotten them this far; and they had passed a violent baton to an wholly under-prepared future.

Artemis blushed as she noticed the thrills of jumping in the deep end of love; the straight path of zig-zagging hallway were homey enough to get her life to go week-by-week with a steady pace--instead of fumbling through the lobbies of nightmare circus; living day-by-day and feeling guilty about the curses of physical deformity. She had written Orion an epic poem that was sincere and honest, and laid a swollen head and throbbing temple down to weep until he returned once more. Remembering him embracing her, and gently asking why she smiled--gazing up at the stars: searching for his love to be written somewhere in the darkness. It was hard to find fault in such cute moments; filled with unbothered moments--and the assumption of privacy from the world. There hadn’t been a single ominous cloud to obstruct the views of a romance-filled future.

She had said to him “what do you want from me?” and “why are you at my door fool?”, more than she ever mentioned loving him aloud. The shamefulness of loving the town tether-ball, and knowing she was deformed in physical appearance--felt like a fair-enough balance between ugly and ugly. How could anyone ever love such a beast as her? How could he forgive her for having been raped as an infant, and knowing she lived a shameless life because of it--what would be the tipping point of sympathy to be given on accord of the need to survive, and the scrupled morality of those born with silver spoons in their mouths--given a true opportunity to make the most out of themselves in the future.

There was no way to brace for the impacts of loving a self-centered man; Orion, was too good for her, and too temporary for her to prepare for...let alone invest stock into. Artemis had finally found herself once more-- successfully fulfilling her labours by dancing, and being herself with purpose on the daily. Artemis leaned upwards to the right...sealing her twisted manuscript with a kiss at last. She whispered to her sleeping giant; her endless truths in the middle of the night--smiling, only because she proved herself worthy of the name Captain. Beaming to herself, as she took silver and gold tools to the supple surface of a mythical piece of wood: carving it into a fine canoe meant for her brave Argonauts and filling it with bushels of grains. Mumu was forever confused by her own hopeless romantics--and unmatched passion for a secure future.

Artemis felt each word ease her suffering bit-by-bit, as though it were a part of a premeditated routine, or a healing process--meant to assist in fulfilling a destiny bigger than a small rainy metropolis. Artemis smiled, because she looked forward to the idea of Orion taking a knee once more, and wondering how much shit they could destroy together as equal partners in the near future.

Artemis had a recurring nightmare in which her father scolded her, blithering as to her negligence in choosing a husband. They had yelled in marble temples--roaring at the endless odds as to her responsibilities in upholding the laws of blood-strength for those holding crown upon Mount Olympus. She felt heartbroken for whatever reason--decidedly turned herself mortal once more to skirt around the issue altogether. Arguments about female reproductive rights were forever to be the line of exhaustion for those combating such scientific ignorance.

Artemis had yelled of a need for independence, and pointed in the direction of a gaggle of men that waited near her father’s council to seek a verdict that had yet to come. He had called Orion common, and the group of men laughed in agreement--she remained forever committed to the skill of waiting beside a door; wondering what the world to offer her in marriage. Artemis had cried at the notion of being objected the chance to love whoever she pleased, and left in defiance of the Gods that had attempted to lock a Princess away in spiral tower. As time passed, Artemis met the men over and over throughout a thousand lifetimes: resisting the logic and false romance they promised. She had waited countless lives to meet Orion once more, and watched as their reincarnation brought the world to ashes at her bare feet. She had observed in awe, as he entered room after room: to service other women-- wandering aimlessly down a hallway that never ended. He began wasting their meet ups--to complain aboot the struggles in his marriage, as though sitting in a session of emotional healing; Artemis listened patiently as she attempted to conjure up his name...feeling a sensed pinging of guilt at the insight of such personal information; when clients and patients are supposed to be a blinded study of compatibility and openness. Orion seemed to be weary with his wife, and wished to return to his promiscuous ways: unaware she had secrets and lovers of her own in his aloof ignorance.

Artemis wondered why she had picked such a strange boy to love, and laughed as her friends pointed out that she had turned green with envy--reddened in shyness whenever he towered over her. Orion had announced himself a starlord and began dancing in the public eye once more, singing without worry and swaying in a trance-like madness. They had achieved all the things a married couples should achieve before pregnancy, and it left Artemis worried that he had forgotten of their promises to care for one another at any cost. Had her words meant nothing to him? Maybe she was as meaningless and useless as the other women he had stuck his dick in...wondering why he had chosen her in the first place. Artemis longed to ask him endless questions, and to seek his strange gaze everyday: it had left her hopeless in wonderment. She felt a veil of embarrassment fall over her, whenever she allowed her daydreams or memories of him wash over passing thoughts. Artemis began to whisper strange nothings to herself--peppered with conscientiousness, until she felt obligated to write them all down in her hopelessness. Artemis was no scorned lover, no estranged wife to worry aboot. She was just a girl that had fallen for the wrong man, and came out the other side of such an illusive black-hole barely alive to tell the tale. He had nothing to offer her most days, just the niceness of his handsome company and a consistent libido. Orion was nothing to her, and everything to her story. Building her up with his weaving presence, and tearing her down in his absence. Artemis had nothing to give. She was merely an orphan that had survived the worst of depression, a woman with a criminal past and an occasionally questionable future.

Artemis had loved Orion in a way that transcended the words of the dead-eyed savages, and it had given her the strength to write down her traumas and pains at last. She needn’t his love in return, or even his kiss. Artemis had only needed to know that he existed in her world, and the relief of silence he brought with him whenever he listened to her speak. She had been real, and her sadness had existed long enough for him to find her in the midst of deep suffering--unable to find inspiration for an undeserved future.

Artemis had foolishly lent him a golden apple, if only to see what he would do with it. She had gifted him with a seedling of trust, as a means to seek reasons in telling him that he could have whatever he wanted to her life. Displaying her readiness in helping him in life had been a blessing that they had both wanted to embrace. The things that weren’t a big deal to Artemis; were the things that brought comfort to Orion, and vice versa. Artemis felt his music overpower her tastes, he had overwritten choices and morning playlists in her absence--and she had been thoughtful in caring to learn of his scripted choices. Artemis felt as though he had been testing her, and wondered why he seemed so excited by the boredom in his activities of changing music from far in range--lasso-ing attention for years. Artemis was born interesting, and he hadn’t known such a type of person existed--until she had left his side. Orion had assumed she was ok, as she smiled and lied through her teeth each day; grateful for his attention and wondering what he was always staring at. Artemis had a curse of mumbling “I’m okay”, as to ward off insincere people, and set the stage for others to railroad the conversation with their true intent. The loneliness of unsolvable problems had left her with a gnawing pain that eventually resulted in her attempting suicide in a spell of desperate ignorance.

Artemis looked at her shaking hands as they bled, and wondered what had been real or imaginary. She suffered from the chronic pain that the world had diagnosed as psychosis in ticks and obsessive disorders that were exacerbated by severe stress and the loss of control--fated for a jail painted silly and unwarranted. Doctors found out aboot her orphan past and wrote her off as a lost cause. Artemis had been too broken to love, and too shattered to fix. Orion had left her, and proved the world right--she felt the world crumble away from beneath tired and swollen feet within a moment. The air began to thin out--and Artemis was drowning in the tides of unrelenting anguish and helplessness. The heartbreak had led the Argonauts to find her, half-alive upon the inland shores of a Golden Bay. Artemis gained proper footing on behalf of the children that lived in silent suffering: just as she once had--advocating for change to the fostered systems and providing a voice for those that may need help warming theirs up. The Argonauts had saved her life, and Orion owed them a debt of gratitude at least: if he dared taking responsibility for the things he had done to her in his youthful ignorance.

Artemis felt her chest heave with relief, as her tears fell silently and gave her pride in standing tall each morning. The depth of nightmare of her life could be defined by the chaotic storms of hypocrisy and corruption that swirled all around. Blood-drenched battles hadn’t been for nothing, and her love was never left unnoticed; she gave her all to the things worth pursuing and world began to slowly cash out the returns of such measurable investments. Artemis was free to yell and make demands, she was backed by the facts that were harvested and acknowledged for daring to attempt the unachievable as a first generation scholar. Independence was gained by letting go of her love for Orion, and inferring herself into battles that had never invited her to choose a side--there was no fight to shave the points of fairness from; the world was steady in its disasters, and Artemis was seen as the calming leader born to weather such storms. Artemis had interjected her anger into politics and found a knack in getting shit done--a skill set at correcting things in scenarios where it needed to be done, or said out loud in the least. Doing nothing had gotten them nowhere; elders had simply hidden away on far lands; dropping their pledges to a Father, until it became a short-lived trend to offer one’s own heart out to others. It had given her dignity in feeling her madness slip from beneath her sensitive hands--burned tissues and a healing grace offered a chance and paving a trail of pebbled successes. Artemis had felt her life flash before her eyes, and ease in seeing that nothing she could ever do would ever be enough for people like Orion. She had only been an orphan--aware as to what it meant to be written off, and disbarred for being less able to bend rules and regulations. The curses of being cast off a cliff to die soon after birth: an anomaly to an already doomed society that had crash landed upon a timeline where no one could really stop her as she demanded a fair chance at a future.

“Where is he?”, Artemis paced back and forth, and began to pull at her skin in disobedience to the laws of her dreams. She had awaited the knock of Orion at her door, and fell into a coma like slumber that lasted longer than intended. “He knows i’m a monster”. Artemis felt sanity slip in and out of her daily thoughts, and wondered why such worries haunted her dreams. He was too beautiful to ever love her, but she had believed that hearing him say such words would ease the unrest she felt each sunrise. Artemis had longed to hug his tall torso, and awaited his strange premeditated kisses with each song that rang with reminiscence. Orion had finally given up on her, and proved everyone right...Artemis didn’t deserve anything to call her own. She remained cursed to live without a home. The tithes of madness noted upon themselves--written in blood, strewn on a unending parchment: drew blood-filled tears and blackened ink from her arm. A romanticists and masochist of a woman--had once loved a passing man, more than she ever loved herself. Artemis had gifted him with an epic poem that wished him a happy birthday, and smiled to herself; knowing that their love had never stood a chance--there was no point in fighting for something that never left the blocks. Orion was loved by many, and she had barely survived the world each day without falling apart at the seams--they were torn apart by expectations. He was beautiful beyond words, and she was a beautiful mess. Artemis smiled--knowing that she had only been proud to be a part of his world, and laughing at the thought that he had dragged her through Hades and back for no fucking reason. Wondering if Orion cared that she still loved him a lil bit with each breath she took, because she took value in the fact he had been real to the touch and somehow--Artemis had written an entire book to express her gratefulness in the midst of the glory of her race to beat a heartbroken spell of regretful ignorance.

Next Chapter: [ XLI ] Artemis and the Chimera