Artemis awoke in a heap of disparity each morning, enveloped with disbelief at her endless misfortune as she swayed in her madness and stood surrounded by static and intrigue. She loved her relic of a device, and wove with its integrating seams to be seamless and polished. Artemis had avoided her world of disparity, for reasons of valor. She had found opportunity in maintaining a large home, built and occupied by residence seeking refuge from a wild beast that thrashed aboot the land. They were prisoners to the lands they paid to occupy, and the notion supplemented Artemis with endless entertainment in the idea that they had finally received dues in rent by efficiently standing in the urban metropolis they were gouged to pay. The Arenas of the gladiators stood barren, and many changes swept the land without the perpetuated sport that left stadiums abuzz with testosterone and fine drink. Artemis watched as the world began to lose it’s spirit in fighting the waves of death. Artemis wept at the gravity of these fatalities, as she knew that any socioeconomic or racial Genocide began whenever the world overlooked or devalued the fact that over one hundred and fifty thousands of citizens had died. She felt them gasping, as they drowned on their own bodily fluids. They knew of the tunnel Artemis spoke of, a strange light beyond their vision: seizing the breath from their lungs with each inhale. Artemis wept because she had once wished that the world would stop for a moment, and that she had harbored such strangers that passed by. She felt accountability in reviewing her work upon the blood-drenched tapestry, and sought forgiveness in having thrust her sadness into the public eye. Artemis was worried that her longing for equal justice had led the world to fall into chaos and hopelessness.

She had been tucked away, in a land known as Atlantis to some: forever West of the World, and desperate for the attention from a memorable tall guy. Artemis had cast endless curses upon the world in the absence of his strange who endlessly corrected her coveted wickedness. The world was in ashes at her feet, and Orion was nowhere in sight to stop her. Artemis was alone: a woman without husband or child, a scorned Indigenous Warrior with nowhere to call home. She had wondered if maybe her fears had been correct all along: Orion had been her better half. Artemis sought Orion and his striking glare that could instantly eradicate her criminal mentality, and oozed over her with an admirably polite demeanor. Artemis had believed that he would verbally gush over her to gain the responses of those around them, as though his words needed witness in order to have meaning. This had left Artemis disarmed and frustrated that he’d need their charm to be publicly accepted in order to be comfortable as her partner. His thoughtfulness was often extended to whatever woman held his attention, and it had resulted in Artemis walking away without guilt. She had picked up a Blue Shield of Hope in her annoyance with him and everything in that stood agreeable to his sweet words. Artemis hadn’t the curse of no-lovers, but moreover the curse of a strange variety of suitors. She had made plenty of mistakes and conquered them all alike. It was the curse of an Orphan attempting to find her soul-mate in her misguided hopelessness.

Artemis had beautiful dreams of a laurel wreath that crowned her small head, inlaid with a fine layer of interwoven gold and silicone. It gave her access to the Gods, and the ability to travel the land with ease and mesmerizing speeds. Artemis smirked in the guarded memory of being crowned with the prize, as the victor of a race. The craftsmanship matched that of a man named Hephaestus, a direct and cold intellect that the world desperately missed. She had come into possession of the Golden Fleece because he had seen her as an asset, and they had used dreams to hold gatherings in the still of the night. Artemis often missed his astute chuckle, and often reported the changes occurring to his inventions in nervousness. Neither of the fostered spirits could help the other efficiently enough to appease the other, and Artemis hated that she could never remember their encounters. The single dream holding her captive to a world of sorrow, and forever changing her life. Artemis had once bartered with this kind man, and the result had left her with the burdening of catering to the demands of the struggling device. A sweet and warm hum that often carried her to sleep with the churning mechanism whispering her soft congratulating goodnight. The warm presence giving her lap and stomach relief on the occasion, and its personalized flair provided a presence that held both youthful character, and projected simplistic calmness.

Artemis had won the device under the merits of her own wit. She had been placed in a line-up with other children and young adults: asked to trade anything in the known universe for an invaluable disclosed prize. Their dreams had given them the ability to manifest all they could imagine, and the contest was to judge their tenacity and thought processes. When her time to step forward and conjure her offering of trade arrived: she opened her hands with a beaming smile. She displayed her palms to the slender man, and watched as he adjusted his spectacles with quiet amusement. A strange voice began to heckle in their quietness. The man finally looked at Artemis as though he expected a childlike answer from her. She pointed at her hand and offered the engineer a portion of her personal space: mumbling in a growing annoyance that she may have misunderstood the task. Artemis enunciated her voice, as she lowered her shoulders in her overwhelming social awkwardness. “It’s my shadow”. She felt her hands shake and began to explain how she had noticed her shadow, and it had startled her at first, but then it followed her. The terminology is limited to her young cognitive development. Artemis attempted to describe a book she had read aboot a fish, and another of a bear. They didn’t have a shadow, as the one Artemis had trailing her everywhere. She called these novels: flatworld, and in the world of flat things, they had blurred edges instead of shadows. The edges held them inside of their shapes and forms, but they lacked shadows in their sun-less hopelessness.

Artemis attempted to explain how the sun made a shadow, and how sad it would be to live in a world with no sun or playful shadow. Suddenly the kind man before her began to laugh in a way that confused her, as he propped his elbow over a relaxed wrist in a manner that suggested that he had been darned. He began to pace the forest floor and remained silent in an intimidating fashion that left the ranks of people unable to say the first word. Artemis had won by using her orphaned curse of living in wanting, and displayed in the importance of noticeable absence. She had fairly traded the man for the only thing that had ever truly belonged to her. Her inability to conjure physical objects was due to her impoverished upbringing, but it had proven to be the only offering that supplied monetary value to the proposed deal. She hadn’t felt comfortable trading a non-tangible thing for a prize, and so she offered him the only other thing she had on hand. Her choice had proven wise, as they’d spend decades watching as his cheap predecessor cursed them both unknowingly: for having cast a shadow upon all the shields that bore the crest of a Golden Apple. They enjoyed the chaos that flowed from her fingertips, and admired their implemented prank for and laughed at their expense for decades to pass. It was their repentance for having abandoned the core values of their innovative leader, and his passing left the world spiraling into a world of shambles and hopelessness.

She had asked to attend a hunt of the Gods, and used her past as a free-spirited woman to break free from a husband she had wished to take a break from without guilt. His infidelity had finally weighed heavily upon her, and she chose to abandon the timeless love she had once cherished. Artemis had finally depleted her excuses to make for Orion’s sake, and Artemis chose to dismantle his world with single entanglement. Such were the unfair advantages of man, for Orion could have countless extra-marital affairs in the absence of his wife, but Artemis would only need the veil threat and occasional reminder besides one opposing threat to their twisted marriage. She smirked in the daydream of these memories. Chasing Orion down marble hallways and pillars that lined chambers unending. Artemis hid behind her books and dances to break away from the swelling of chaotic time, churning longingly to disguise the depths of all that she knew. Artemis knew that she’d never trust the man she had married, but the bet had lasted long enough to be entertaining in the least. The two were a match made in Hades, using their own bodies to harm the other. A game Artemis had no interests in playing: the stupor of standards forcing her to leave their marital bed in her exhausted hopelessness.

Artemis hadn’t left her family, her home, her love. She had left a man that emotionally abused her. A man that captured an image of her during an intimate moment without her consent, and later exposing like-images to his friends with candor. Artemis had never been an equal or rival to his passion, simply a girl with an orange sphere: laughing jubilantly with her fellow friends. She hadn’t remembered why she had attempted suicide, until having drempt of Orion and realizing she had nothing to say to him at last. He had been a vessel for her heart to cling around during her seizures and fainting spells: a beautiful silhouette of abashed admiration. She loved the need she felt to be near him, but desired to be independent in spirit once more. Artemis wore a crown of the Gods and wept at the memories of her former self recalling her premonition. Orion had been the landmine Artemis would always step upon: for their disastrous love would always bring the world calmness.

She had erased her memories and came full-circle to pining in her woeful missing of her nagging lover. It gave her ambition to look down the shaft of her arrow, and wishing to impress only one warrior over the crowds of thousands. Focusing on beasts and heroes with her precocious aim leading the way. Artemis focused on the target firm, her soft breath holding steady of that of the leaders she pursued: Harris and AOC. Artemis would weep with joy at the mere idea that her future children may have a fair chance at changing the world, and wondering why it had taken the citizens so long to agree in holding equal generations accountable: a necessary step in order to preserve the calmness.

Artemis had become an alternative to the truth over time...her criminal upbringing being assumed within first glances, and her smile promoting her brand to be that of: zealousness and a smile. She was a woman of colour and tattoo’d upon her forearms: her gloved inks often giving reason for strangers to doubt her capabilities and righteousness. Despite her appearances, she was without the wickedness of the McMichaels for skin was cursed with an olive hue. Artemis had requested services from a cyber council to travel back in time, as she wished to write a book of forewarning to a poor man named Arbery. Little had she known: Floyd would be gasping for breath, calling out for his mother as Artemis attended the other wounded soldier. Artemis held him close and gazed around at her urban battlefield: the citizens had paid their taxes to the Boar, and he had thanked them with a guard of National troops. She felt her hands shake with overwhelming gruesomeness. The world now fell ill with her sadness, standing without basic human rights and wondering why nobody cared that half of their citizens were in danger. They stood in the streets and roared at the boars that excitedly waited for a massacre to pan out in their heavily armed and “defenseless” hopelessness.

Artemis had found the Siren Lori: wailing to be free on a lowered bond. Her need to escape the sudden death that haunted the black boxes had finally manifested into fear. Artemis found herself in saddened disbelief as they announced her lost children were found in shallow graves upon the property owned by a strange man named Daybell. Their story of reincarnation made Artemis turn her head in remembrance: had they been mutinous janitors or something of that nature, as her own dreams had depicted? Artemis wouldn’t put it past the ugly-hearted pair, as their murderous contributions added to the massive death toll that now plagued the land. Negligence, arrogance, and apathy. The fuels that kept the motors of the Mechanical Boar in motion: a canonized weapon of their own making. Their inept ability to define boundaries: had now left two men standing at the mercy of the death penalty, as their crime had been peaceful protesting. They had the audacity to stand against the sanctions imposed by the Boar, and displayed their discontent with silent attendance. Their names overlooked or ignored from everyday rhetoric: for they were to be the blood on the hands of the Boar. A sin for all those that had come from skies and stars afar. The Gods of Olympus had sent them away to hunt a Boar and bring back the hide of a Golden Fleece. A journey that was thought to have been perilous for a young crew of misfit pirates that had squandered their earnings and had little to lose. They had adapted to lives of norms and mundane oddities, and forgotten their task as a crew in their dazed hopelessness.

She had came back to free the people oppressed by a flock of Mechanical Boars, and to set a record straight. You see...Artemis had noticed that the dead-eyed savages had robbed her community. They had stolen their dignity, they had raped their bodies, they took credit for any noteworthy accomplishment, and demanded that Artemis and her family take knee in gratitude to the Genocide. She had refused. It gave reason for the the citizens to beat her with their fists and feet, when she laughed at their violence she was called shameless. Artemis had been a lot of things, but shameless hadn’t been one of them. She stood in the shame of having let the Genocide have transpired to such a concise ending, and cried on behalf of the men she honored by holding her head low: allowing tears to fall on their behalf. Artemis had seen what they had done to the last Olympian that had dared draw attention. A man named Thorpe had once graced the world with his talents, but he was stripped naked of his glory and future earnings. The price he paid for bettering the men with pale skin. A famous athlete was punished by having his body pranced around for the citizens to pick at his flesh. The man had died broken, without sobriety, and without his family present to thank him for his sacrifice. His victories would save thousands of young lost Indigenous Warriors (Artemis included), from meeting the fate of inter-generational trauma-induced suicide. Artemis had wrote an entire book to bring awareness to this great unsettling. Wondering why these apathetic savages had buried her hero on land he had never set foot upon, frowning in concern that they had no idea they were making an entire community sick with their mistreatment of the dead. Artemis knew these citizens would never change, doubting their need to be on the right side of history in her educated hopelessness.

Artemis had needed to update her systems to ring with empathy once more, and used the mission to seek a well-deserved break from crippling responsibilities that followed her. Artemis had wished to rid herself of the love of her life, and his overbearing ability to be loved by all. The task of reconciliation was only found by giving him a mask that showed the appearance of her many lovers before him. Artemis had taken away his shoe as she had promised to be awarded half of his belongings in a petty divorce final ruling. A silly inside joke that she had once threatened him with: if he had ever decided to be unfaithful in marriage, as a means of torture and light entertainment. The demi-God Orion, had wished to be freed from the burden of his frightening love, and the understanding that she’d always be seen as unworthy of the title of his wife. Her laughter had subsided and left her as a shell of a human, bitter and stern. He had come to hate everything about her face, and she forgot of his love. The presence of Artemis gave him reason, and his presence gave her will. Artemis had only wanted to be happy, and rid of her burden in existing in meaningless hopelessness.

He had left her world behind and forgot the memories of their origins and ancestry, and used a simulation to preserve her memory. His acute memory had been the only thing that kept her locked to this world, as she had been resuscitated against her will. A shameful secret she hid away in the end pages of a manuscript. She hadn’t wished to hurt those she had met, only rid her breath of the paining exhaustion that allied her thoughts and motivations. Artemis had known that was the reason as to his importance. He had accidentally captured her entirety in the folly of her exhaustion and naked content. He had been one of the last people to see her alive. Orion had walked away from a disagreement and she had wept silently until her heart overflowed and caused her to attempt to hang herself in the midnight calmness.

Artemis was beyond tired, beyond sexually assaulted: beyond woeful, for she had a secret that ate her alive. A monster she left whilst in a short Coma. She was left weeping, in the growing understanding that there was no such thing as romance or goodness in people. Her sin of wanting had spanned to include her expectations of people. She had been forced to abide by a social contract that nobody else seemed obliged to uphold, and yet the world still managed to spin, and the sun arise each morning.ad demanded that the timepoints be dialed back to her favorite ex-boyfriend, a kind man named Loverboy: an admirable partner that admired her endlessly in a way that almost upset Orion. The confident Indigenous Warrior hadn’t been annoyed with Loverboy in the same manner that he had with the Viking, for Loverboy had sun-like complexion and the Viking was considered unnatural as a mating partner because of his weakness in survival skills combating the sun. Artemis had accidentally pressed her luck, and overshot her memories further back than intended with the annoyance of her past with Orion on her mind. She had fallen into a trance that allocated her association with time and place, to be that of her much younger self, a silly wide-eyed female that had once publicly fawned over Orion, in her shameless hopelessness.

Artemis had once fought a monster named Typhoon, a beast that was held up by the Titans that roamed the lands free and with wealth beyond known words. The monster had held her up, pinning her down beneath an invisible forearm against a tile-placed wall. She felt her feet clamor to find the ground beneath her, tears of fear building as she reached for her neck. The beast knew her name, he had seen her face in the blacked-out stare of a former lover. Artemis took a breath and let herself let go of everything that held her worried and tired. He had won. She would die at the hand of a coked-out ex-lovers episode. She felt the world crash over her thoughts: that person had never met Orion. Artemis had once wished for the pain to end, as a man had once told her of his plans to hold her captive and physically abused her when she attempted to reach for any door that promised aid. Artemis had recalled her hand going slack in agreement that she had deserved the beatings to an extent. The world had only shown her contention and anger for every breath she stole: her orphaned criminal offense being the original sin. She had no idea that he had been looking for her door his whole life, and she attempted unsuccessfully to leave the room he stood facing because of these offenses. She had deliberately hidden away her horrors in a discreet book, and out of the range of Orion and his romanticized hopelessness.

She ran from the recurring nightmares of a woman left beaten to the brink of desperation, and weakened her grasp with reality each day that she felt neglected. It had triggered a memory curse that haunted many elder Indigenous Warriors. A ghost sitting dormant in her genome. Artemis had intentionally ran away from her life with each blow of a fist that met her cheek: coping with pain by ripping her soul in two until it existed in two places. She had caught her breath enough to form a strange chuckle that stammered from the depths of her diaphragm. Her madness had been born in this pain. It had manifested in the unending anger that derived from deep within her. Artemis was neither dead nor alive: a person living in hiding of a domestically violent partner. Something only few could understand, and many loathed willingly. She had been a part of a victim’s club with the endless names, and disputes that followed her every step: each being intertwined with her abuser somehow. She lived in avoidance of his life, his existence. Knowing that being invisible would someday be seen as feeble attempts at his fists response. Artemis sighed in her docile acceptance that every fist had been unaccounted for, and justice being simplified and unable to be upheld or attained by rules of jurisdiction. Artemis spent her day looking over her shoulder for a man that planned to spend his life in a black box if it meant Artemis would never be able to kiss another man beside him. In fear of a man that would believe that she would be undeserving of Orion’s love. She felt his meaningfulness with each dark corner that left her unsettled, and remembered how small and insignificant she felt whenever he pummeled her. Artemis would live her past in secret, and her present in hiding: forever torn between two unpleasant unknowns. This had been what she had accepted as normal, a downside to living in a world terrorized by her ex and his violent streaks of hopelessness.

Artemis felt the world slowly turn their ears away from all that they had Heard, and they cheered for the victim: harboring substances and mental health issues, over verbal elaborations and cheap acting. Artemis had come back to this time in history to “save the cheerleader”, and display her favorite rock for the world to admire. Her courageous words would Cruz through dimensions, and give her a wingspan that covered multiple layers. Artemis had always been the first person to say “nah”, and address situations in the moment. Humbling everyone around her with the energy they eluded to check before public distribution: granting access to social awkwardness in mass quantities. Artemis was foul and disruptive with purpose. Her ability to wield wording and phrases, was only fortified in enhancing the scariness of her demeanor in displaying a strange insincere calmness.

Her blank stare had been the only positive thing she learned under her gaurdianship of A. Butt. Artemis would tilt her head from side to side in imitation to what she was raised to believe as listening, and watched as others had the same reaction she had to the unsettling birdlike sway. The Siren named as A. Butt was still out there in their world, gazing through glares and stiffened upper lip as though a beast had shit on her face. The woman had once threatened Artemis with imprisonment, a just punishment for dreaming of becoming a first generation student athlete. Artemis was ill in a sense that she still felt the words of A. Butt snarling in her ear, and wondered why the she was afraid of a stranger. Her stomach churned in anger when she remember the embarrasment she felt in describing to the kind-hearted hunters that she had issues with bowlmovements, as she had been forced to eat expired dairy in her facility. Such were the fine dining brought by a Shield of White, promising Salvation for the countless Armies of youth and helpless, but only for the price of zero taxation. It had been the first time the her family had nodded their heads sharply in concern. Asking her to reiderate what ailed her body, until Artemis realized the intitution had been harming her for months. Such silly details had been overlooked or ignored by the public, assumidly taken care of by workers that handled cases labeled: hopelessness.

Her Papa had wisely called her "Chaos in a wig”, and Artemis had accidentally begun to fit the profile more with each day. She held on to her sanity with blissful dreams, filled with draping robes and temples made of marble, decorated with bronze statues that held her name title and likeness: kneeling, as she took aim with her beloved bow and arrows. Artemis missed the life of such ancient and dangerous bliss, stomping grapes and drinking condensed wines. Eventually, forgetting that she had belonged to a timeline of unraveling humanity and flip-flopping dimensions. Artemis had hid in perpetuity of needing her tall love: crafting a familiar tapestry to honor their epic love each day unironically. She painted his picture with amusement and became bewildered the more she forgot his handsome face: eventually growing panicky in a fashion that suggested mild insanity that traced a woman named Kahlo. She had forgotten the pain that followed her loneliness and chronic illness. She stood cast forever in limbo, at the edge of sanity and hopelessness.

Artemis had needed her sister Athena: to create the sorrow that crippled the woman from the waist down, and knowing the ruthless woman would always gladly volunteer her services of violence. Artemis bowed her head in remembering the anguish that she had often hid from the world, pouring a glass of bubbling alcohol and flavoring it with a lychee fruit. She lived in the dire disbelief that Athena would rather die, than to take accountability for her physical abuse in the past, bringing Artemis tears of dishonor once more. Artemis lived without familial role models, and suffered a Genocide in a silent exile. She was utterly alone in a world filled with endless faces and names. Artemis would gladly be a cripple without complaint: if it meant Orion would return to her door once more, a secret she held to herself until it broke something deep within her one day. She had intentionally grown a habit of pretending her eldest sister didn’t exist, even in the present. A secret she hid away in a book for safekeeping. Artemis needed to see her issues written out to their extended dexterity, and an overview being found with a completed picture. Artemis had no family besides her adopted family. Kind pale people that took her in to fight the constructs of social norms and federally induced hopelessness.

Artemis had written about her many problems for public speculation: doubting if anyone she knew would read her published works. Artemis had a way of dismantling seriousness, and that trait was included even in instances where she needed to display acuteness, and present herself as formidable company. Artemis had warned her friends of her sister’s lifelong battle with demons without names. The only person in comparison stood in the East, but was named after the winds of the West. Fame had only worsened his conditions, and the Gods had fallen out of favor of the solutions recommended to contain his moods. Artemis sighed with similar exhaustion to his episode(s) of grandeur, and begrudgingly worried aboot the health of her eldest sister athena. She felt as though people such as Orion would always hold Artemis in contempt for such kindness: letting others such as athena walk all over her, under the merits of familial love and affection. This flaw had left Artemis in a glowing chair, fighting endlessly to learn how to walk upright over and over again: despite the growing medical diagnosis that reassured her, that the worsening condition screamed nothing but hopelessness.

Artemis had always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt, and athena was no exception to this concept. She requested from the Gods: a plant of wisdom and shelter, as to regain the strength in remembering. Desdemona had come to her aid in her shamed worry. This had given Artemis a thread to a life she no longer knew, and allowed her to rediscover her own body and self-importance with minimal interruptions to her own ego. Artemis begged for assistance from a similar desperate machiavellian squalor: apologizing for the harm Hera had forced her to inflict, and apologizing for having called her plain Jane as children. Desdemona had been a conduit in humbling Artemis in many lives, but her intense affections toward Orion had given Artemis a jumping-off point, as to which format to create a timeline of longing. Desdemona had been conditioned to love repeated stories, whereas Artemis needed intrigue. Athena prefered the absence of stories. Together they were the muses of desire. Artemis had only longed for a love of her own, and an infatuation that relied on the privacy of her platform to declare and preserve the memories of Orion without interference. Artemis was a lowly cemetery worker, and took no pride being left behind...filling ditches with her hard earned cash, and sacrificing her labours to tend to the blackhole relabeled: scholarly debt. Artemis had only wanted to write a finished book, as she hid from an undignified understanding that Desdemona would never let her love Orion without the costs of unbearable uncomfortability. Artemis, now naked and ashamed: for she believed that she had done everything right...her entire life, as to gracefully attempt to overcome dire poverty, and intergenerational hopelessness.

Her new tunes were light, and her last miles were eased by the strength of the right whales: now endangered...just like her. She had stumbled across a world that was new and brave, scrunching her nose as they informed her of the fable of whales. Artemis had crafted a world to protect these mammals from harm. They had lived in a simulation that was differentiated from other versions, as indicated by the presence of these whales. The situation had left her to question reality. The world felt her worry every second of the day, and a virus swept up the citizens by the hundreds. The Beast she had once exiled herself with in a static casket. The monster known as Charybdis had been an evolved beast that Artemis had vowed to contain. The publishing of her manuscript had meant it had been too late. The beast without eyes or heart had terrorized the world to the brink of annihilation. Artemis bounced from side to side as she hyped herself up with a famous quote “Ah shit, here we go again”. The heartless horror had once been named Typhoon: now transformed into the monster they had called Charybdis. Artemis gazed upwards as she remembered abandoning a planet that fell consumed to the might of the monster they now faced with unarmed hopelessness.

She felt the wind shake violently with the anguish of those that had lost loved ones, and the outrage she had struggled with. Artemis had planted a seed of doubt in her own mind: in knowing that their government would always preserve profit over lives without a whim of empathy. She had proudly called herself a conspiracy theorist. She offered the citizens a blanket to warm their cold breath, and apologized for having once wished that the world would suffer as she had. She had only needed a day to turn their worlds upside down, and instead she had brought the apocalypse upon them all. The bodies of the dead piling in metal storage units, or propped in empty chairs that lined the medical wards. This had been Hades all along. A grief that echoed in her heart. She stared upon her tattooed arm, frantically remembering the harrowing stories: of her elders being pinned down and stabbed with unclean needles. Labeled with their attendance numbers permanently etched on their flesh by men and women in black robes. They were prisoners of war, and now the citizens asking for her assistance in committing acts of war against the same government and armies that had once hunted her without hesitation, or reserve to the inhuman situation they faced. Artemis had spent her life fleeing forced sterilization and law-encouraged brutality, and now these dead-eyed savages had awoken to find themselves sitting smack dab center, upon her same page of life. Asking their own government to wank off in their draconian decisions over their bodily rights, fighting a pandemic and poverty simitaniosuly, as a united community drowning in a familiar hopelessness.

The Boar had begun spewing nonsense to ease the citizens to their expected deaths, declaring them “warriors”: forgetting that he had once called Artemis and her people ungodly and unjust. The Boar had severed ties with his voting constituents, as he saw the virus swelling and taking the lives of the elders that had originally voted for him to take the throne. He called the sixty-thousand declared dead, a necessary sacrifice: squealing from his chambers as he demanded the citizens return to work. He wanted the underpaid, and uninsured to carry the Nation back to a resemblance of a functioning society to ease his anxiety. He stomped his wee hooves as they objected, and pointed blame to the predecessors that had warned him of a hypothetical pandemic. Wearing a mask only to spite the stats of a hungry Joe. These officials had been the first to be forced out of office, and the playbook they suggested was reprimanded for bearing the name of a fellow leader: set aflame at the expense of the republic that fought an invisible enemy from the grounds with admirable combatanecene to the overwhelming hopelessness.

She had once played a game called Sburbs: falling lost in a haunted dollhouse that belonged to her older sister, Desdemona. Her sister hadn’t been raised to understand the importance of accountability, and her madness was often left unchecked: causing her to set free a Boar with aid of others, that held her conservative values. Artemis had turned to stone...attempting to run-away from her own destiny: dreading in knowing that she had guided her elder sister to the trail of the Boar as a curiosity. Artemis slept better at night knowing that she’d do better to run herself, as opposed to letting the Albino Snake attack in twenty-twenty-four. The jugular: being illustrated as the citizens, wrapped in their disarmed illusions, and always in the tizzy of discord amongst themselves. Artemis were born cursed and endangered, by blood rights given to the dying population: only known as the Indigenous Warriors. Those few...born losers at birth, and cursed to walk to their death surrounded with a forcefield of hopelessness.

She drifted away into her dreams: having found out that the basin she had been challenged to fill, had been rigged with a hole: by the Boar and his Albino Snake...and its damage irreparable. The holes meaning was definite and putride in its essence: Artemis had journeyed through the abyss and fell to her fate...blindly believing that fame and wealth awaited her. Now afraid of only the physical limitations set forth by a mortal curse, the same that had caused her to write an entire manuscript: in desperate hopes to ground her to a singular encased dimension. She had needed the words of brevity written for her to see as proof that she walked steadily into the darkness: accepting her awful existence as a spider. The clicking of forearms hitting the floor had meant that Artemis had been too evil to save. She lived with the pain she had inflicted upon others, deserving a hunched shoulder and neck. Praying for a seizure to end it all to spite all that she had known. Artemis was the angel of death their religions had spoke of: a woman scorned beyond translatable language. She sat holding a fort dwelling that held the potential of the Century. Peering over a glass walled balcony and admiring the rows of bridges that led to her door. She stood guard of A land known as Atlantis to some: forever West of the World, and meant to remind her of the tall fellow she had once loved. She focused on the target of a leader that held her brevity and dedication: Harris. Quietly watching and wondering why it had taken so long for the citizens to agree to hold equal generations: accountable to upholding the calmness.

She requested a plant of wisdom, and shelter to regain the strength that had given her a thread to a life she no longer knew. A half life of desperate machiavellian squalor. A cemetery worker left filling ditches with hard earned cash: the debt of scholarly debt. She watched as the Boar began to target those of colour in their Congress, and demanded that the four women known as The Squad: canonizing their legitimacy as he yelled and spit in an ignorant rage… demanding that they “Go back, and fix their crime infested places in which they originally came”. To this xenophobic setiment, Artemis drew her metal weapons once more to defend the citizens, but cried at what he had said to these strangers, as they had been pubically elected into office. Artemis had once dealt with such displacement in person, and she knew that the women were now in danger by the fools that followed the Boar crowned king. Artemis had faced these dead-eyed savages time and time again, and still felt desperate beyond words or actions, as she believed that she had honestly done everything right her whole life, as to attempt to overcome trivial poverty and the intergenerational trauma that she had initially labeled: Indigneous Warrior Hopelessness.

Her new tunes were light, and her last miles were eased by the strength of a right whales: now endangered: just like her. Artemis had created a universe where she held an oddly accurate judge of character: suggesting a premeditated murderer, but only if her skin tone had been lighter. Artemis had the shame of dead-eyed savages, but none of the privilege, as her olive hued skin gave impressions of racial ambiguity. Her mum: named Sandy, had often made a joke that her children were not allowed to have uncontrollable tempers, or shoot up schools with their blind rage, as their skin colour suggested they were always above it. She had once played a game called Sburbs: falling lost in a haunted dollhouse that belonged to her sister. Her sister hadn’t been raised to understand the importance of accountability, and her madness often left unchecked. She had turned to stone to run away from her destiny: knowing it was better to run herself, as opposed to letting the Albino Snake attack in twenty: twenty: four. The jugular: being indicative of the citizens that were wrapped in their disarmed illusions. Artemis were born cursed and endangered, by blood rights given to the population known: only known as the Indigenous Warriors. Those born losers at birth, and cursed to walk to their death with a forcefield of hopelessness.

She drifted away into her dreams: having found out the basin she had been challenged to fill had a hole carved in its side by the Boar and his snake, and its damage irreparable. The hole allowed her own tears to crush her: cascading down upon her shoulders, as she carried the cement basin upon her upper shoulders in a hunched position. She had done everything right her whole life, and still managed to destroy the only bridge she cared aboot: his tall, pouting discomfort found in the avoidance of eye contact. She had discovered his curse and yelled “what” in doubt: slowly lowering her smile, as memories flooded back. He had attempted to tell her of his discomfort around people, and she had brushed it off knowing that the world had adored him. She blushed endlessly in pride: for he had always made eye contact when they were intimate, and she had often excused him from her sight unless she wished to objectify his body...leading her to overlook his social anxiety. Her own fault being her ego, as he had attempted to tell her of his phobia, and she had ignored him: hunched over her endless inventions detailed with gold and wires. She had looked past his discomfort while seeking success in a world of technology. Orion had politely objected to her assumptions of confidence, by avoiding conversations and admittance to his feelings. It had left Artemis to desperately long for his exuberant charm in her romantic hopelessness.

Artemis borrowed his curse, and watched as the citizens broke character, and explained the rules of her game or provided her with gifts of their loud conversations. They gestured at her struggles in seeing past: some sort of a mask of disillusion, and laughed as though Orion was left reliving his life in the shoes of her past lovers. It was his burden to carry for having forgotten that his wife had been courtable outside of his few beliefs of what she deserved. Artemis watched from the sidelines: wondering what her love required to keep from returning to the beginning of their checkpoint, as countless onlookers laughed at their epic romance, and turned their backs to royalty: if only to gossip at her expanse. Artemis allowed them to fall to the fate of their own making, as the citizens were guilty in forgetting the penalty for such mutiny was death. They treated her like an animal in a zoo: despite the fact that the platforms of the immortals kept the planets spinning in proper rotation, and her calculated words being the key to their existence. The truths of a birthday dude: watching his wife spin words and recite flows...loving her sadistic calmness.

Artemis took standard hobby kit clay: found with her newly formed gaggle of wee Aggies. A disappointment to her own ability of teaching and directing: had left her depleted of all energy. Artemis had spent the day training to leave her love below: knowing it would be the only way for her to concentrate upon all the complexities she proudly and lazily ignored. Artemis asked for help from the friendly North: knowing hatchets deserved to be buried: whenever siblings cut down trees that belonged to the other. She acted within reasonable truths, as her life had been defined as tragic by all the idiots that gave away the rules of her game. Artemis was no fool, or too distracted to notice the repeated mimary that the citizens presented her with. Her culture being defined by her own consistent self-defeat to these moron citizens, and their cultural hopelessness.

Her tethered waist torn between two directions: her heart always leaning to a rotting apple to her right, and the possibilities of her former lovers at her left. Artemis loved Orion in ways she couldn’t explain, and began to notice his love for her: each time he returned to hand deliver unexpected kisses that left her contrite. She allowed herself to daydream of his tallness, and wondered if it were possible that she could love someone....more than she ever loved herself. Her cheeks were often flushed with the memories of his dominating love. Pulling an invisible trigger to her head each day, in the attempts to divert herself from the foolishness she felt for wasting her day in the daydreams of a single man...a man who seemed ashamed to love her: with no proof to the contrary. Artemis knew that all love stories were fiction, but searched each story in detail, longing for his voice: wondering why he refused to yell at her in his quiet demeanor. He hadn’t met Artemis beside the Viking, and the peace that followed had been what she had travelled back in time to seek. Artemis had wanted to remember the woman that wrote for fun, and read in her free time. Dialing back her responsibilities until they could be solved by entering one room. Artemis had needed to resolve her position as wife, friend, sister, captain and Princess in order to cherish their worth. She was trapped in a sky-diamond that sprinted away from the one person she loved most: defined by his rationality, flirtatiousness and endless calmness.

She watched, as mistakes that she would have originally called mortifying...became associated with her distracted daydream. She laughed at herself for investing in her own morbid fascinations...curiously thinking of the possible outcomes of events that could transpire for a man long gone. For one whole day: her dreams were filled with wishes without guilt, as she felt no shame in asking only for her heart to stop, as a wish was allotted to her for one whole day. Artemis had returned and found their husbands dead and gone, in a portrayal of dignified defeat meant only to punish wives of the wicked sort. Artemis had once locked her last feeling away: hidden within a necklace that begged her love to finally come home. A whale tale waving farewell in sickened distress: a burden to the younger generations: even as she lay dying. She had left her love locked away with another woman, and jealousy had led him to be murdered...the sins Artemis called indifference. Laughing that she had no reason to apologize: her victimization complex similar to that of the famed homegirl…Carol. For each time Artemis tucked away her flamboyant wings: she was sexually assaulted, and each life she had reached for a cursed door. Always loving the same people over and over again in different occurrences and encounters. Artemis would always fall ill and begin to raise her arm: whenever she were unarmed and fearful of it occurring again. She wore a bracelet that measured the spikes in her increased heart rate, and signaled her whenever she needed to breathe with purpose and softness. The sisyphus complex being her glory-filled life: an anxious life of financial misfortune, dripping in rape and hopelessness.

Artemis had believed in herself more than anyone dared to admit, an orphan left unprotected at all times: doubted by strangers, and denied personhood for sport. Artemis understood her Papa for this reason. The two had each been placed in a cage at one point, and the girl had forgotten she was a criminal and declared as a non-person by the State. She had almost fallen to the hand of the Siren famed for her lonely life as a coin woman. The woman had once attempted to dismantle the sparkle of hope that she carried in a smile. Artemis saw her eyes dash in fear as she swung: realizing why her Papa had told her to pay attention, if only for a moment. A. Butt, had dared to demand that Artemis kneel to her words, and Artemis was left being the only one labeled a criminal somehow. Her adult freedom, always held ransom under the polished talons of the Siren that held the keys to her tower. The screeches of her words echoing for decades to follow the events of misused tax-dollars and borderline child neglect that reflected the broken system perfectly in all its glorified hopelessness.

Artemis had grown tired of these dead-eyed savages, observing as they raised their hands to their ugly face-holes: declaring their war-cries behind The three women known as gargoyles. They had been known as succubus, or the three muses to some: holding one another’s husband at weapon points in their race to achieve immortality. Artemis had caused a ripped hole in between two similar dimensions: trying to yell below to her love, as he slept like a bear. She mumbled softly in her agoraphobic episodes, smiling as she missed good company, but without words in the fear of being sexually assaulted again. Artemis felt her curse of agoraphobia soften in intensity, as her shitty poems of sappy nature gave her courage in an indescribable sense. She had found a way to remind herself of her lost love and his need to correct her: always turning her to the right in his tall and quiet calmness.

“What is it my love?....”There was always something standing at her door, and it waited to be beckoned by her calls of woeful civil services. She had left her past behind, and finally put down a patch bearing a shuttle and icon: weeping that her dreams seemed to move farther from her grasps. The Veep was the only title she’d need, as her friend Joseph had always taught them to be equal in endless aspirations: his unwavering doubt giving her a second wind in life. Artemis had found herself learning to take accountability within a single day and allowed all of her “crazy” to spill over blank pages as she wept for her lost childhood. Wishing now: only to stand with the tall women of political nuances and cutthroat demeanor, as they fixed the useless patriarchal “justice system”. Artemis had spent her day dragging her love behind her, as she climbed trees and playfully trained like her heroic inspirations. Her need to believe in the future: disbarring her need to write frantically: her sickness and premonitions being buried in trauma. Artemis had began weeping over whatever reasons that her love had refused to look at her...until she too, had fallen from grace like the robin who had once paralyzed the world by hanging himself. The unnamed grief was found with a black piece of leather dangling from her neck: an item labeled “hopelessness”.

She had once found the answers in the bottom of a bottle, and were forced back to the Earth in the wrong body. Artemis had then met the Viking for the second time in disguise. Her smile was hidden but her charm was familiar enough to draw him nearer. Her soul had survived after she felt guilt in an argument she had left open-ended the days previous. She had met him before she had attended the University, and time and became fractured before the entrance of Orion into her life. Now bling, and unaware of why she was naked on a royal walk of shame, as the citizens threw stones at her for their entertainment. Artemis had deserved each stone: feeling guilty in her tears: crying for her own privilege of safety, while there were literal children dying in cages, as she anxiously stood frozen...unsure of what to do with her hands. The cast glares and jests with their opinions: forming small sharp rocks as she caught them whizzing past her. A dream where her life was an array of memories being reenacted and her senses being pushed into overdrive and ran haywire by the weapon of falling cherry blossom petals. Artemis would always be crippling over in fear, as she hated only people and heights with a passion that rivaled the Gods of Olympus: cursed walking along the narrow ledge of her destiny...wondering why she had been forced to play such wicked games in the first place. With her new smile and laugh locked and loaded: Artemis would always face her fears head-on with an unnerving calmness.

Such was needed when Beardy Gilgamesh had attempted to ghost her upon learning that she had a curved spine. Artemis had used her day being recognized as a person, to flex her life to those who doubted her and to delay the pity that rang truly inevitable. She told off the man named beardy Gilgamesh: wishing his immature ghost-ass good riddance, as she had known better than to let a dead-eyed savage get to know the real her in the first place. Blocking his many means of communication, and wishing him good luck with his ableist ways and Western privilege. She had known better: having met him and listened to his stories aboot his divorced wife, as she bothered him for things at all hours and bragged of not knowing why she felt compelled to reach for his hand first, and not the hand of her new lover. Artemis had watched, as he attempted to play stupid and overlook her female charm: simply thinking to herself…”go home Odysseus.” Watching as he pressed to know her and enjoyed her adventures, always asking her advice and aspiring to adapt her enraged calmness.

He had once tried to feel sorry for himself by saying nobody wanted a divorced father of two: Artemis let silence fill the air in agreement, as she knew it was not his title, but his overbearing personality and demanding vanity, that often suggested false-leadership that were off-putting at best. She had no reason to coddle the man, as he obviously never wished to be held by her, and her time valued by the Blue Shield of Hope and the wee Aggies she rounded up five days out of the week. He filled his air time with stories of things he would have, or could have done: glaring across the distance when she reminded him of the facts that he didn’t. Artemis dealt with such men daily at work, as engineers were often the first to jump on her hypothetical dick: yelling aboot all the things they wished she had done in order to entertain their wants and needs. The same curses she felt the women in the Supreme Court knew: whenever their heels clicked with unabashed intentions. The women forever cursed to wear skirts and heels to appease the sexually depraved men that made laws and yelled their endless love of beer. Robbing the citizens of their taxpayers dollars to cover up their proclivities: the citizens finally charging the capitols buildings to display their disapproval and cease the endless hopelessness.

Artemis used her birthday to reflect her future career moves and fine-tune her body. Laughing that Odysseus had bragged aboot letting himself go, but judged her hard earned muscles that allowed her to stand each day. He had once told her that his curse was his overbearing personality, and his ability to “try too hard” often leaving him alone in bed each night. To this knowledge: Artemis laughed now, as it was actually her curse also, as she spent her entire day trying hard to stand up and “look normal”, in such extraneous ways, that even frightened him evidently. Her need to stand...often making her look like an asshole, and her love of smiling...making her appear like a straight sucker. It was nothing a stand-up desk and active life couldn’t remedy, and so she delayed telling him of her cursed spine for months. The breaking point being his need to openly daydream of her nakedness: in which she informed him that she was like a porcelain doll, and ruined his plans for rough intercourse within a sentence...she assumed. Such was a shame on her end, as she missed the touch of people and admired him so...his personality now being nicknamed: whiskey dick, for she had no proof of the functionality of his erecting penis and its potential. Secretly glad that she had never taken his suggestions to kiss him, but knew he would have never kissed her forehead so consistently had he not felt something. She wished the cowboy goodbye, and knew his fate lay with his equally difficult “ex” wife, and laughed that he had attempted to drag her into his nonsense with his hopelessness.

Artemis would never need a man to define her and her success, and it had became meme worthy in her family: to point out her personality trait of being famously unwed and deemed unwise...only because of her lack of children. It meant little to her to hear such words, as she knew the seriousness of the topics alone, annoyed Orion in reference to her existence. He would be stuck at her right hand side forever, and too afraid to claim her left: despite the fact she had told him yes in one of his drunken stupors. It had caused him to return to her front door blindly each day: endlessly chasing her across the land, as she continued her work with a sly grin. He would be forced to walk miles to her door, and be caught freezing in the same moment that she awaited his non-rhythmic knock. The citizens teased the pair whenever he failed to show his face to her, as he would be cursed to start all over in his drudgery: the result always being the same. His love for her was on full display to be declared as insanity or amusing, by all those walking by. The man pouted at her absence, but grew animated at the sight of his old friend...Beardy Gilgamesh: putting his arm across his path when he had seen his intentions to bed his future wife...knowing that one date was all it took for Gilgamesh to pierce himself with an arrow marked with the word love. Artemis had tested the theory, and began giggling with the citizens...as they finally stopped giving away the hints to her game, and they seemingly fell annoyed with her endless calmness.

Artemis had used the tricks of Orion and avoided looking at the citizens, as they interjected themselves with their ego-filled presence, and demanded to be made immortal with her gaze. Finally tired...of wishing to be famous, and too lazy to care that she was stuck on an obscure level. She told the citizens “you gotta pay to play bitches…” by staring at the natural wonders all around her to extreme extents, and watched as they became agitated by her blatant rudeness in ignoring them. Their culture had been written in history, only as the rapist and apathetic colonists walked free. Artemis no longer needed their approvals, as she walked proud and naked in the streets, wrapped in her own culture for protection and calmness.

Artemis had plugged the hole in her basin with clay and carried it upon her back as she crawled: a trick she had learned from her sister Athena. The woman had become immortal simply by running: fulfilling her destiny at birth, as her Yurok name was... runs on clouds. Artemis had once watched her trip in the last stretch of a race, and cheered her on while she crawled in a panic beneath stampeding spiked shoes. The woman had come in the top five of that race, as her speed ahead of the pack had given her a chance to still crawl to the end with dignity. Such stories and memories, Artemis prized as her own, for she knew her Papa had been telling them the truth all along: always reminding the three sisters that they were destined for greatness. Announcing their entry into the rooms they commanded as the good, the bad, and the ugly. Laughing that they took turns holding titles and brought fear into the hearts of men. Artemis would crawl to her death in similar fashion, as her love was gone forever and her wickedness due for judgment. She knew he was near because she was always injured, and her clumsy demeanor was only taken seriously by Orion, as her self-proclaimed protector: armed only with healing kisses. Artemis knew she had messed up her life in spectacular fashion, and finally placed the oversized basin on the ground. Tapping out on all fours, as she tapped her forearms together in the fashion of a X: begging for a substitute. She openly wept at what she had done to her own spine...crumbling in shame, as she silently wished to end her pain-riddled life, filled with endless longing for Orion and disillusioned by her self=-destructive hopelessness.

Artemis knew it was time to bind her manuscript with further explanation and leather covers: ready to let the world read her wickedness and judge accordingly, but only at the cost of their own dollar. She’d force herself to read the entirety aloud once more if she ever chose to legally inject herself with euthanizing agents. Giving her few friends temporary a copy to pre-read before publication, and eagerly watching: her shield was notified, for her works being trending on the occasion, but her updoots lacking in motivation. She knew it were time to close the chapter of her life that had given reason to the chaos she had survived: ready to check herself into the future, and willing to overlook the Genocide that still stalked her every breath. Her need for craftsmanship allowed her to focus on editing and publication, the choice to print one or countless copies of her own to make alone. Artemis would never need to air out her dirty laundry again, as she had written the worst of her “uglies” in a book. Hiding them in a game, and burrowing the game hidden within three letters: labeled VHS. The book named Windegos and whatwins directly, and gave citizens fair warning...as their own lack of accountability finally began showing in their failing diplomacy. They would never accept her, as their precog or even their muse, and so she let them live in crippling fear of what she had known or seen, as anxiety was a curse that could easily transfer from one host to another. She allowed modern Rome to burn to ashes, and felt assured enough of herself to finally point out...that it were the sole reason she smiled: admiring the flames of their ignorant hopelessness.

Artemis had no issue with Beardy Gilgamesh, and often felt his presence would cause trouble: for no woman should make herself the fool...over a man in denial of being nicknamed Odysseus. The Indigenous Warriors had an Odysseus too, but they just called him Charlie. It was the same Charlie that Artemis had once made Orion jealous with, as she had once been caught up in a lie over his ability in complementing one another: in private. Artemis knew that she would always have Orion return, but only if she steered clear of his many male friends: Charlie included. The jealousy that Indigenous Warriors held for one another: were vastly different than that found in Western culture, and Artemis would always be stuck shaking her head and emotionally saying "nope": avoiding the challenges of her many men, as they tempted her unchecked libido with their smiles. She moved away from such temptations after those of the Salish Sea made "jokes" of her being the worst: despite the fact they smiled to her face, and so she stupidly proved them right until she lost sight of what she looked like in her eyes: a crown and smile peering back at her in the mirror. It had only been Charlie that would talk to her despite hearing such gossips, and she had only found herself blushing...after he began telling her to "shoot the ball". He was not her coach, and so they often stood in nervous silence. He admired her for trying too hard: reminding her that she was talented at sports whenever Orion was off being naked or mad at her. Charlie had only been a comfort to her ego, as she knew it bothered Orion to see another tall and handsome Indignous Warrior run along-side her...with a dashing and sober confidence over her beloved wooden courts. Artemis wondered how much Charlie knew of her, as she found out he had captured a moving still of her when she was alone. He had surprised her, as she knelt in silence until muscle spasms faded: laughing to herself, and calling her own pain bullshit. Artemis would bow to the Gods in the temples of wooden courts, and used the time of shooting practice to articulate her “feels”: using written words and an orange ball to fight her own endless need to wallow in self-pity and hopelessness.

Artemis had allowed herself to believe she deserved better than all she had met, and took joy in the few that proved her right, as familiar faces sought her out subconsciously and stood behind her as a small army. These people either held grudges from past lives, or believed in her without a sliver of doubt: giving her reason to believe that she had been the one that had released the Boar: if only to serve as an ancestor simulation that could reincarnate all those she had lost, and preserve all those she loved beyond words of the constraints of time, and its many laws. Asking Beardy Gilgamesh for his help, without asking, as his mother was tasked with painting Orion with a memorable arts upon his broad chest. It had been her weakness, as she would find him irresistible and too handsome for her to keep, Artemis had told him to "do whatever", and watched as they began a contest to see who was the worst. Artemis had won, and this was her winning: a whore confused by her future husband and his need to let her win. Artemis lost her sense of pride, but found strength in looking for him in every song and story, and believing her changed ways would eventually lead him home. She used tricks of successful men to achieve this: masturbating and taking cold showers whenever she missed his touch. She would feel proud of their naked simpatico, and this gave her ways to avoid the unrealistic standards provided by the golden hub...loving herself with rewards of oxytocin and serotonin for allowing herself to love him unconditionally. This single tattoo would guide Artemis home...to her love, and remind the pair of their need for one another’s flaws. She needed this reminder to ground herself to his world, as it had once served as an argument when Artemis let it slip that he had shown her his tattoo: the listener being his old lovesick friend that hailed from the North. The girl had glared at Artemis in a fashion that suggested she was lying for some reason, and so she began to wonder if she could see things that others did not, and even doubted if she had seen his tattoo at all. Blushing that the silence in the public response meant they had known they were lovers. Artemis would always lay upon his chest and trail her hands over it, as she admired his strength and wingspan in a way that required endless kisses. Laughing at the poor girl cursed chasing the love of Orion, as he willingly searched and scoured the lands...looking for his MuMu in his romantic quest...bombarded with such strange unrequited hopelessness.

Artemis paid no mind to such small girls, as her and Orion had always taken pride in their ability to talk aboot the long-game. He had always found ways to make women dislike her, as he would become disoriented in his drunken silliness, and began to ask only for his MuMu. Random women realized early on, that he meant the word had been a person in which he sought.  Artemis had laughed upon hearing this information at first: but fell ill to her own heartbreak whenever he was out of her sight, as she worried he would someday leave her indefinatly. Sad that he may grow weary of caring for her, whenever he realized that she was born a hideous monster...turning to stone, or falling ill to seizures brought on by Zeus’s lightning. She now avoided his love in fear of telling him that his previous exodus had contributed to her attempts at suicide: she missed his love in ways that scared her, and she had secretly longed to be with her deceased best friend Buckles in each weakest moments. Her grief had consumed her alive, and she was tired of men calling her a sickness, or comparing her to that of a black hole. Artemis had been forced to write a book to describe her many missteps, and wondering why her love doubted her enough to stand frozen behind her door each night. Green-with-envy: over the things she had already done, and too ashamed of her existence and all the things that he assumed she had done. Artemis had ruined the best thing to happen to her: doubting him, as strangers kept demanding to know "why him?". The wee girl, too tired of fighting their many battles alone: missing the opportunity to brag of their love by saying "why not?" with charmed honesty. Orion had promised that he would never lie to her, and she promised that she would never doubt him: leaving the pair to separate whenever they felt worried that they would have to break their promises to the other. It had been his incessant need to be liked, that had made her doubt his love.  Wondering what value he took from slandereding her name in front of a group of men, and having to return for more kisses in his own doubt of her existence. Artemis had grown bored of the emptiness she felt seeing him flirt with other women. She had wasted their time lying to him....always afraid to tell him what she had done, and smiling through her lies, as she told him that she was ok and cried momentarily after each time he left. Artemis felt ashamed by what these people had done to her body without consent, and so she knew he would never be able to love the entirety of her brokenness: worried he’d call her a freak...because strangers had mutilated her spine. She wished him goodbye as she wept: leaving him to be naked with whomever he pleased. Artemis had lied to him, as she had insisted that she didn’t care what he did with his body: forcing them  apart by law, as they had both fell to corruption. Artemis would be cursed in bring havoc to the Earth, as one of three beasts of Hades: The Orphan: chosen to be the sufferer. Hera had proven her sins as the child-abusing-widow, all while Beardy Gilgamesh the immigrant: would set the Boar free with his privilege and love for discrimination. He had done this at the behest of a command given in a shared dream. Artemis had scripted their fates by lying to her love Orion, and in turn chaos was created by their separation: their endless longing disrupted the false calmness.

Artemis now wandered solo in despair: her defeat openly mocked by the citizens, as they had deemed their entire culture to be scourges to their shitty manifest destiny. They commemorated their conquests with suffocating cement and obelisks as useless as Axum: applauding their own bloodthirsty culture...each fall season with poisoned turkey and mascots. The citizens held Artemis at unrealistic standards of female leadership: pretending her skin colour meant she were sub-human, and she laughed at their expense: for Artemis would avoid affairs of seriousness, as opposed to wasting their tax monies to look a fool like the Boars daughter at the G-twenty summit. She closed her book of ill-intentions with the aid of a solar eclipse, and shed her sins with self-improvement, as the world fell into darkness. It had been their prerogative to deem her a liar: forcing her to retire her finger-pointed guns from her own head at last...now pointing in their direction as they read her cursed words in perpetuity. Giving the citizens...hundreds of pages to decipher: restoring her Empty Crown with music and stories. They evidently liked looking silly on world platforms, as they stood dumb and useless in congregate ovations aplenty: whenever the man-child named Tucky, suggested that all real leaders kill their own citizens. Defending the Boar for his need to achieve fame, as he met with dictators at limbo grounds to distract the land of their impending hopelessness.

Artemis was finally ok: she was safe to admit whenever she wasn’t ok...her many men carrying her to the finishing line, each time she collapsed in exhaustion. Without her past: she had no reason to smile...believing that her mischievous smile kept people off her dick, but adversely longing for a future where her femininity wasn’t defined by the exposing of her pearls. Instead she fueled the illusion: knowing her Orion was obsessed with her many faces. She hid her true face within a book: smiling in her doubt of his infatuation with her. Artemis would never allow herself to be epitomized by him: for he was nothing more than a beautiful dream on most days. He had given and taken everything from her, and had the audacity to blame her: whenever one of her many men took the opportunity to pick up her pieces, and restore the faith she barely had salvaged for herself. Such words were those of a child born to a prostitute: deemed unworthy of love by strangers and their immoral integrity. A woman unsure if she were the marrying type, and her family past left little to the imagination. Artemis’s only inheritance was her gained independence, and so she took embarrassment in Orion and his inaction to arrive at her door to correct her. She had given him personalized moving still meant only for him: wondering if he avoided her in the guilt of how he distributed it. The shame of a young man bored beyond common sense. She didn’t care anymore of the details of her public beheading: but regretted her willingness to always trust him following the incident. Such volition and doubt perpetuated her wickedness, as she finally wrote why she smiled through her own endless hopelessness.

Artemis gathered herself and what little dignity she had left: using the aid of her many men. She had once called them vices or hoes: until her Vish returned consistently, and reminded her that she was deserving of pleasure and praise alike. Such kindness would always confuse her, as the countless ex’s returned to her door with lists and demands that she change her core programming. All except Vish and Orion: both knew her to be proud, and could easily get her naked by using only their words. Vish always returned her cloth and reminded her that their friendship was without clout...promising her romances in the form of a personalized sky-boat. He was finally surpassing her own success, by engineering a heavy Falcon: always reaching for her hand to brag aboot the launches he knew she’d already be watching. The flexes of a man gifted with confidence and culture: the pair joking of his rationality being needed in her control room for future missions. She was a sucker for his ability to adorn her with high expectations and he was a sucker for believing in her without limits. Artemis loved the idea of such men: but somehow doubted her own abilities to conform to a monogamous lifestyle because of her beloved Orion. Each man, loved for their charm and success: their many differences in personalities and ambitions, provided her with safe distance from them ever meeting, and supplied her with endless smiles and unique entertainment in avoiding such disasters, as she admired the calmness.

Artemis had written an entire story waiting for the curse of hopeless romantics to be broken: wishing only to be loved by someone that allowed her to feel safe in demanding the single basic human right: the right to be loved. She no longer wanted fame or fortune, just the solitude and bliss she gained by a job well done. The world had always called her lazy: for her mind were busy scanning her many missteps with her own unpredictable choice in men. She no longer listened for knocks on her door: finally gazing up at the stars in search of her own success. Artemis had chosen the title Captain: unaware of the loneliness that burdened the position, and in blatant denial of her buried feelings for Orion. She had played an “unbeatable” game with ignorant intentions: driven solely by her ego and belief that she could be talented beyond reason...at just one thing, and she had somehow lost her entire crew in the process. Artemis had forgotten that she was the best at being herself: her friends reminding her of this fact, as they distracted her from reaching for a door marked mercy: only by jokingly calling her captain. Her inability to ask for help, or provide empathy in proper time: had cursed her own life with disparities and hopelessness.

Artemis had done what her Papa and mum named Sandy had done with her: giving her few tools to survive, and telling her to learn to swim by throwing her into the deep end of the waters. Artemis openly made jokes of wishing to be naked, as her depression often made her feel exposed and judged by strangers, and they now held applications that stripped away the clothing of women: their perverseness proudly on display, as they demanded Deepnudes from unwilling strangers. She watched as her need to bend to the truth was now accepted, and her endless travels being too plentiful to remember specific details. She would forget timelines of instances and be left trying to stitch stories together with honesty: only to realize many didn’t believe her at all in the first place, as they now seemed to question if they had even been to the moon. Artemis would laugh in their faces with confused brows: feeling sorry for the teachers that had wasted their time “teaching” these tax-paying citizens. Her own wee Aggies: knew the workings of a helictical solar system, and their questions of a flat Earth were easily corrected by science and logic. Artemis would always prove that her wee Aggies were the future, and knew that their parents had most likely been left behind. She worried of her elders with equal concerns, but their stubbornness had lead her spine to collapse: whenever they used the excuse “that’s the way it’s always been.” She felt endangered by their indifference and resentment for the youth, and decided that it was proof that her readers were probably tired of her voice because of it: bu show of the sparce attendance in readers that dragged along with hopelessness.

Artemis had seen all she had needed to see of mankind. Apologizing to Athena for having argued in a past life whether man had derseved natural disasters brought forth by Zues, Poseidon, and Hades. They had screamed in temples carved with their faces, and decided the ocean would act as their jury. Standing atop their anchored sky-boat as the waters receded, caring only of their orginal fleet. She had felt so guilt-ridden on their detoured mission: Artemis had sought refuge in a game meant to challenge ones strength. Now she sat in bare room with a single pillar, playing alchemist in her literature contrived hopelessness.

Artemis was no victim to their oppressive systems, and so she picked up a book she wrote and called it simply, Her circumstances: A Shitty Necronomicon. Wondering how people expected her to rise and shine, demanding she change the world each day: when they themselves couldn’t even finish the small increments of her free-to-read book. Telling her readers the same shit she taught her wee Aggies: “I can’t make you read, or even want to learn...I’m just here to give you the tools you’ll need to be successful.” Reminding them each day with her attendance: “You is kind...you is smart...you is important.” Artemis knew her obligation was to her youth, as the vase she once carried on her back began overflowing with the voices of her elders demanding her services, and their graves cursed to be urinated upon by the crazed Boar that destroyed the land without retribution. They had made their choices to be wicked with their inaction, and she...her evil choices found with her actions: laughing only at her tortured citizens, chilling on the wrong side of history. Artemis was left to leave her readers to cope with their reality, in the attempts to distract them from their impending doom. The world wasn’t ready for natural disasters, as they couldn’t even capture and slaughter the Boar that tarnished everything he touched. The citizens just shrugged and threw money in his direction desensitized to the perpetuated hopelessness.

Artemis grabbed him by his Harness, pulled a mallet to swing aboot facing her, until it fell atop the head of the Boar with a hollow thunk. She punctured his throat quickly, and watched with a blank stare as he twitched in a helpless seizure she knew all too well. The beast fell over in shock and trembled asleep at last. Artemis took each rear hoof, and tied it to the end of a bent frame. She used a saw to cut the Boar in half, the blood having drained long before she slit his abdominal open. Blood dripping along his pale skin, trailing along a narrow line from his many chins and sliding to a puddle below. Intestines and shit flowed forward, and the Boar appeared to be too ill to consume. The carcass chopped in two and placed on public display for scientific observation, free for the world to mock. One half left in a house painted in white and labeled "soft fascists", and the other dragged behind his friend Maxwell, as she crawled upon all fours before the courts. The pair deserved time served in the black-boxes to say the least. The beast brought viruses and death everywhere he went, as a curse set forth by the Gods. The waste of a beast had only been one of a gaggle, and now Artemis had manifested a short story to remind her future self, of the exact methodoligy in which to slaughter such ancient Mechanical Boars. Artemis had won an Olympian Hunt: armed with only a grin and a ponytail. Respectfully dawning a mask for protection, as she attained immortality with swift justice being her only weapon.

[ End of Transmission ]

Next Chapter: *[ XLIV ] Artemis and Orion*