One day...Artemis punched one of her cousin’s idiot minions in a dream, and when she turned to wield her small fists of furry upon the familial banshee: the girlish loser was gone. Her cousin had a talent for slithering away into the darkness, and it left Artemis bored in her unending nightmares: proud that she had announced an arrival into a simulation without rules. She was continued to fight with each spell of sleep, knowing the value of human rights--could never lay still in a bed seeping with the stench of madness. Desperate longing created a world where Artemis dealt with women pulling verdict on whether or not she deserved the right to love Orion freely.

Artemis then toppled clumsily into another dream: falling upright and upside-down in swirling chaotic vortices. "Ima be sick." Artemis fell ill, unsure of which reality she had fallen into, as every other day seemed surreal and horrific in its contents. Her bed was surrounded by her two favorite athletic coaches--both men calmly talking about her, murmuring as to her health condition: in a fashion that "almost" sounded like they cared. It was concerning for Artemis, as the foreboding undertone implied that something was undeniably wrong--futile if you must: the traits of concern were often questionable, whenever people felt as though they were “forced to be nice” when using her, as a topic of conversation. She looked down and saw a massive hand holding hers, and attached to it was the most beautiful human she’d ever seen. The man had no name that she could recall, but his looks; avoiding her lucidity--seemed to resemble a shame and sadness that only Artemis carried around and displayed freely.

Artemis was afraid to let go of his hand, as it was warm and gentle to the touch. Her heart was breaking, and she couldn’t recall why. She asked for the privacy of the Viking and the other coach, and watched as the handsome man glared at her in confusion. She thought “that’s odd” to herself, and shrugged emotionally in silence as they waited for his departure. He made an exit, and Artemis was shameless in peering at a perky bum as he wandered away: he seemed to walk on the balls of his toes--in a fashion that made him appear as though he almost floated off into the distance. She turned to the respected homies, and began to blush; pointing out the confusion the stranger had left her with. “Man...that there, is a beautiful human”. She whistled a teasing cat-call the second the door closed behind him: her eyes were fixated on the path of his bubble butt. Artemis was a sucker for "big-booty-hoes", and it were obvious that she were lost in daydream. His mere presence made her grin uncontrollably, as her sleepy and libido-driven ego admired and reflected upon his firm bottom freely.

The two men looked at her, one angry and pretending to be undisturbed, and the other trying to hold back his laughter. “I don’t know who the fuck that guy is, but he is way too attractive for me..."--she nodded towards the door and asked "who dat?” She spat game at a stranger, and stared at the door as though it held answers for her. The two friendly coaches seemed entertained, by the fact that she was unable to care more as to his absence. Artemis seemed too shy, as to ask why he had been there. She interrupted her lustful thoughts and thanked the two men for the presence of the gorgeous man...presumably named chip or dale: pointing out that the vast human was exactly her type, and making a remark, as to how they shouldn’t have splurged their financial savings--to procure such a graceful entertainer on behalf of the occasion. He was somehow the cure to her endless loneliness-- just by his unique ability to exist in the world. Her friends looked perplexed, and her coach asked if she was joking. Artemis stared at the door: longing for the handsome stranger to reappear. She asked the Viking how he was doing, knowing he had started dating a woman--famed for wearing shells and a lean frame. Her calm seriousness bothered the other coach that interrupted their reuniting pow-wow. “How do you not know who that is?!” He was mad at Artemis for forgetting the handsome stranger; for whatever reason. A delighted grin remained plastered shamelessly, as she gazed at a door in the distance freely.

Artemis was indifferent and docile to his perturbed anger, and she began to ask if her best friend Yoyo was ok. They had a winter tournament coming up soon. The taller coach grew worried, his grey hair pointing away from her in confusion, as though looking for a medical professional to report to. He left promptly to seek medical assistance, but Artemis secretly hoped it had been to retrieve the tall gentleman that she had politely just asked to leave. Artemis felt bad that his face was almost familiar to her: his wide-hooded-eyes made her heart churn, her mind raked over details as to the inabilities to recall the memories of the giant that had left her side. Artemis was left alone with a pouting Viking that seemed concerned, as to how her attention was solely on the man that she couldn’t remember. He was losing patience towards their past tension-filled friendship. A smile displayed that Artemis was in good spirits: quite content with waking up to such a fanciful guy holding her hand. The boost in confidence gave her the independence to dramatically toss her hair and speak freely.

The scrawnier coach reappeared with a woman in white, and they began to ask a million questions. It seemed as though Artemis had traveled back in time: cementing her personality and memories in the year two thousand-and-thirteen. She said “whaaaaa?”, as though the kind lady should exit town at the mere suggestion. Artemis was the least afraid person in the room for whatever reason; her chipper attitude seemed to charm the nurse at the foot of her bed. The two coaches avoided looking at her: their silence meant that she were a freak of nature. She interrupted the three yammering on about science, and asked “why that year though?...”: the Viking seemed to feel important by this question. He crossed his scrawny arms and shifted his weight to appear taller; whenever he was the center of her attention. Artemis thought to herself grumpily “ugg, calm down woman”, knowing it’d lead to an argument if she pointed out the fact that his fragile ego was showing. She stared at the distance between her pastel colored blankets and the edge of her bed; pointing her toes daintily, and noticing that everyone seemed relieved to finally have their opinion and observation(s) heard freely.

Her other coach began to ask what had happened the week before, and Artemis had pointed out that she had contacted the Viking and reminded him that it was his birthday. Sarcastically mentioning that his oldness required annual verbal reminders. "Old". Artemis enjoyed heckling at potentially inappropriate times. The memory of taunting him was dear to her, specifying since they occasionally shared small pastries filled with fruit--to celebrate his personal race against time. He had always been perpetually old to her, and it seemed to mitigate a lot of their arguments. Artemis recalled the proprietary information that his favorite treats were almonds coated in chocolate--he found them, and probably her company...to be imperceptibly joyful. She was often worried as to his unmaintained health, and took it upon herself to monitor his moods: noting that his sugar intake dictated his day and overall productivity. The man stood taller, and portended to remain annoyed and less-important, by the fact(s) of her caring as an extracurricular hobby. He seemed to crash anywhere between eleven and tea-time. She’d often take mental notes, and stored back-up sugar out of his sight freely.

The men stared off; left with only the option to observe her ability to recall details over an aging homie standing-guard at her side. Artemis wasn’t actually his romantic partner: so pointing out his energy levels weaning, wasn’t really her prerogative...just something she had done out of respect for their accumulated friendship. A majority of their arguments had been passionate, filled to the brim with yelling. Their passion was often mistaken to be of a marital nature, because the man held the fear of aging and she liked his old man company. He’d often use Artemis as a crutch, to revert into a boyish and jealous version of himself quite freely.

Nothing could explain why she found that his gruff voice to be calming in effect, it remained at the level of a disappointed growl--deeply buried beneath self-righteousness. The man was blind by his own passive rage towards her. He had just started to impress a woman that was known for pathetically throwing herself at him publicly, and making ill-timed jokes about marrying him at any costs. Artemis didn’t trust such open vulgarity around consistent “jokes”, and desperate women. The nudging of public opinion by way of exposure--seemed like a strange way to bag the man of your dreams.

Artemis was just a point of arguments, the tip that brought disbalance to the scales. More often than not--men didn’t seem to know what they wanted from her. She needed him to leave: to prove that he’d always held himself at a great distance when romantically preoccupied, and ever-so-tightly, when he was bored of life. He had forced her hand and called her bluff: laughing openly at her, when she mentioned they had been married on multiple occasions in her dreams.

Artemis felt the bed swallow her whole, the darkness cared less that her coma had subsided. She felt herself wandering through the darkness with a braided tether bound at her waist. As she yanked it, the beautiful man re-appeared to hold her hand. “O my”, Artemis was confused by his commitment to the bit...frantically attempting to pamper wiry hair and dust off her robes. She wondered how long he’d been at her side, and whether the dream-conjured version of this guy, was aware that his real form sat beside her medical bed freely.

Artemis blushed, wondering what she had done to earn such cuteness in partnership: obligation kept her silent in curiosity, holding onto his hand for dear life. The man seemed to know what he was doing, so she just trailed behind his wide strides. Artemis felt beyond-comfortable by his need to care for her, and she wondered why he refused to look upon her smiling face. He seemed so mad at her--but, she still couldn’t remember his name. There was no indicator to announce why this particular person had been marked as the man of her dreams.

Artemis clamored at her threads, drawing out a shield--scavenging the depths of its contents as she sought his contact information, and proof of any past love-letters she may have sent his way. There was nothing. He was nobody to her evidently. She began to weep, confused as to his lack of communication...knowing that something was wrong with her brain. She was afraid of his need to upset. Tears fell, she begged him to wait up; until crawling was the only option in moving forward. There was nothing left to do, but trail behind him begrudgingly...with the blind hope that he may turn and recall why he’d sentenced her to a life of loneliness and horrifying dreams.

He threw offended glances over a broad shoulder--whenever she wanted to know his name. He’d often bow his head; somehow saddened by her lack of remembering. Artemis was afraid of his growing temperament on the subject, as though it were adding to the eventuality of leaving her side forever. It was simply easier for her to cry and walk and crawl along in naked shame. He dragged her along until her spine fell under the weight of his confident strides. "Have you gathered the sheep? I’ve collected all the monsters." Up until this point, Artemis hadn’t noticed his eyes dancing with a static-laced veil draping over his vision. Neither her, or the handsome suitor held full autonomy to move their bodies freely.

Artemis began to crawl upon the floor...clamoring with desperation and begging for him to slow down. He could care less about her health and abilities. He seemed impartial to her well-being, and one day she forgot him altogether because of it. A spell of spite had left him blind, to prove to her-- that he walked away with the sole intent of causing her harm each day. Artemis had a very hard time distinguishing her living nightmares from her basic dreams.

She was cast violently down upon a sterile bed once more; groggily greeting the extra familiar faces surrounding her this time around. They peered at her with amazement--excited to meet the woman that forgot the name of an important stranger. Yoyo seemed relieved, and her friend K-elly reminded Artemis that he had treated her "like shit" in their short time together. Their words hurt her deeply, but not nearly as much as his absence at her bedside. Artemis was tortured by his need to punish her emotionally, publicly and without reason. Her inability to recall his name had cast him to be a bachelor of sorts, left to roam and glare freely.

The Viking had left indefinitely, and Yoyo explained how he and the beautiful stranger had been yelling in a hallway as to her health. Artemis found it odd to know the two men were on the same page, but she was even more thrown -for-a-loop...when Yoyo informed her--that the Viking had assisted in bearing a child with the woman he had just started dating. Artemis said “I see his ovaries weren’t playing around." jokingly; taking a moment to be a dick at the expense of her desperately moody friend. Even in his absence, Artemis knew better than to craft jokes surrounding his choice in an unpredictable partner...it seemed like a mildly dangerous flaw that he chose to be charmed by quite freely.

Artemis knew he had begun to worry about the issue of his bloodline and patrimony, and it made her laugh to think of him trying to pin-down whatever woman would take him in his current aging state. Artemis had taken a hard-pass, but she congratulated him on spreading his seed so last minute. Yoyo seemed alarmed by her pride in him, and reminded Artemis that his baby-momma had stalked Artemis, and stolen golden portraits of her without consent. Artemis broke away from her polite demeanor for as split second: “she did what?!” She didn’t take people breaking the law lightly, and it jolted a new anger beneath her chest. Yoyo seemed to breathe easier, as Artemis had been strangely calm and supportive up until that point: considering the entirety of the situation. “What a psycho”. She didn’t like the idea of a stranger lampooning her privacy to pursue barely-reciprocated dreams.

Artemis didn’t need to hear any more of the Vikings story: it was far easier to reach the conclusion that she had dodged metal shards that were aimed at her heart. K-elly seemed thrilled that Artemis couldn’t care less of the stranger that was absent on her bedside, and so she brought in a woman that was tall and gangling...as some sort of test. "Your place or Mine?", was all that Artemis could whip up on the spot. There was no way to calculate the array of confusion that began to bubble up beneath the surface. Artemis had no way to gauge her circumstances freely.

The woman seemed annoyed by Artemis smiling and polite in her good-nature, even though they had never met. Artemis wasn’t impressed by her entitled personality, and even less-impressed her blooming agitation. The strange feeling of being in danger was lingered in the room; the fun-had been quickly stifled, and began to creep back into the room the second the woman left. Artemis grew afraid in the dark, wondering why such people were being brought in, one after another: the trials began to weigh upon her, and her mind attempted to decipher their importance in endless dreams.

She asked the bestie Yoyo, “where’s Hippolyta?”: wondering why the pale Indigenous Warrior had yet to visit. Her blonde hair and talent were noticeably gone from this morbid reuniting of old friends. Yoyo reminded Artemis that they had grown apart after the pale woman had invited Artemis out dancing...attempting to bring merit, as to why she deserved a night away from Federal deadlines and using the circumstances of friendship and ambition to seduce and fuck a brooding man that seemed equally upset by Artemis’s need to prioritize career-driven dreams.

When Artemis had declined the night of fun, she had heard the rebutle and changed her mind last minute. Upon the exit of her dormitory, Artemis observed a man glaring into the distance and helping himself into the chariot of a girl that claimed to be lonely-beyond-lonely. She had witnessed Hippolyta maneuver the situation to fit her narrative...having firm confirmation of Artemis’s location, and a man sitting alongside her with the temporary excuse that he and his romantic partner were "on a break". A tale as old as time. The man had taken it upon himself to fuck her in a sticky and disgusting powder room freely.

Artemis recalled the pale woman screaming into the night "what’s a girl got to do to get some dick around here?!", and forgot that she’d already taken the steps to distance herself from the Colvin-side of cultural guilt. Truths of pallid skin being equated with classless sluttiness--rang true as ever. Nothing could change the fact of the events; just like nothing could change the level of shamelessness dragged around by the now absent man, that intentionally refused to acknowledge Artemis freely.

Artemis had furrowed her brow in alarm to the crassness of the story, and said “ok...”, giggling at the baseless-ness to a story that no longer involved her. "Why wasn’t I enough for him?" Artemis felt embarrassment begin to fester beneath a grin, as though to cover up for the fact she’d forgotten such vile stories. Artemis was indifferent to the absence of the nameless man after some time, and she changed his contact information to reflect his real place in her life. She called him “Nobody” in his listing, and followed suit by erasing all words as to their complex friendship freely.

Yoyo had informed her that he had Kissed the other Krista, and taken a Jab at their formidably as a couple--out of sheer boredom. He was famous for having gotten lost in a dangerously poisoned sauce along the Salish Sea. The man had grown to resent Artemis; just enough to use his beautiful body as a weapon to hurt her. He would choose a new bed each night, unafraid of the consequences: needing to inflict humiliation upon her at all costs. It was justly deserved, as Artemis had loved him without constraints or judgement. She had been the only woman--stupid enough to say yes to a ring that took over the accountability costs of his promiscuous past freely.

Artemis had nothing to say--he couldn’t even formulate the courage to apologize for the countless bullshit...that she had literally forgotten. He had only left her bedside, knowing Yoyo was on her way to care for her, and that she’d be able to shatter any illusions of loving the stranger with no name. She’d taken him off his pedestal--armed with only a handful of stories. Yoyo had known too much, as she was Artemis’s best friend: The poor woman had been there when Artemis lowered her half-alive body from a banister, and apologized for attempting to hang herself in anguish. She had seen Artemis give up on life, and grew concerned at the loss-of-will-to live. Yoyo had embraced her with words and hugs freely.

Yoyo had always been forced to pick up the pieces of “his love”, and it had been the first time they’d had a fair discussion--without the chance of a man arguing for her to stay “out of their business”. His cruelty was overlooked by Artemis on so many occasions--one day she collapsed in a seizure, and just completely forgot him by pure accident. Her body was attempting to protect her heart. The man was absent, because he had known all the things he had done were out of pure selfishness--to attain passion within a moment, out of spite or boredom. His missteps were often sloppy, open to the courts of public opinion. Yoyo had been the resounding note or reasoning, a baseline of calming predilection. It was apparent the nameless man needed a second chance, unburdened by his past...he had wanted the option to love her freely.

A tinge of familiar guilt followed the interruption of a moment subtlety holding notes of inconvenience. The man with no name; stared down upon a claw hanging over his knee--unaware of Artemis standing in a doorway. The sickness of physical turmoil; allowed her the right to view immediacy in the overall involvement and pathos of choice that lay ahead. The detachment of thought had served her well in the past, and rendered the chances to find equal footing; without needing the added embarrassment of being titled a cuck. She began to smirk in amusement, hearing another woman call the quiet man “buddy” in a condescending tone. Artemis would rather return to her bed to find rest and proper strategy, without guilt in jealousy being given away freely.

Artemis felt her heart race, she needed to run away--from whatever she had interrupted, but her body was still too weak to comply. She hobbled away, as he spoke empty words at her: each step left her body to fail a bit more and more. The room began to capsize with enveloping somber colors pulling oxygen from the depths of a diaphragm, shallow breathing echoed through her racing thoughts. The purgatory of "A Cave of Lost Souls" was the name granted to the abyss-like-static of being half-alive. Coma-vexxed people lived half-lives, casually befalling to waves of spells--crashing relentless over their consequent. Hiding behind the benign understanding of autonomy, granted only with a curse of being swallowed alive into another dimension of dreams.

Artemis awoke once more: a skinny coaching man, a yelling Viking, and a nameless man arguing over her almost-lifeless body. The broad-shouldered Viking gazed down upon her in worry, and his face became softened by her flourishing friendly smile. This was something of a vice for Artemis: to need his worried brow to lower, as he often stared at her longingly and an authentic concern to her happiness freely.

The man without a name; began to badger the Viking--asking why he was even there in the first place, and implicated that the mother of his child wouldn’t approve. He seemed taken aback when he was informed that Artemis had been given legal permission to use him as an emergency contact; in the slim chances that she would succumb to seizures. The litany of reasons for picking one over the other; without current understanding of why such occurrence would come to fruition rose into a recipe for disaster. Her inability to care had turned the events into the most ludicrous of dreams.

She couldn’t apologize: due to the lack of the unnamed man and his presence in her golden shield. Artemis was glad when the second coach returned to her bedside, as his calmness was always in agreement with a cardinal Viking- for whatever reason. He announced that there was a banshee asking to see the man with no name, and pointed him towards a hallway where she waited. Artemis said calmly: “you should go, you don’t want to keep your friend waiting”. The lack of jealousy in her voice had made him upset: knowing Artemis was weird in regard to being impolite, and he skirted away to attend to whatever hole he had been filling; to soothe the anguish he had endured when she had been in a coma. Casually drowning in a coma dreams.

Artemis felt relief in his exit--she wasn’t sure why he was pretending to care: he had yet to ask her if she could remember his name, and it became abundantly clear that he hoped she’d forget him altogether. She felt like dead weight, as he seemed eager to return to his naked ways; without guilt to the nature of their relationship. He needed her permission to leave, so he could do whatever he wanted with his body freely.

Artemis turned to the Viking and said “sorry about that, he seems to think I need him...I think”. The second coach began to smile; in a way that was goofy and somehow proud. He returned to the conversation he had started with the Viking, and together the three laughed merrily, as they updated Artemis on all that had happened in the world while she had been fake-asleep. Artemis respected the two men in a way that showed in the form of respected comradery: she felt proud that the two got along so well, and wondered if that meant she was the catalyst or the end result of their friendship. She sighed, such fine company always had a way of finding her, so she knew better than to question the things that happened so naturally around her. They began to explain how the world had grown dark with death, as a pandemic began sweeping citizens from their homes. Artemis began to sob without restraint, and the two men felt helpless in exposing her to the truth too soon, and knowing she’d respond to such trauma with tears regardless of the presentation of information. They felt her heart churn out beats slower and slower: Artemis would feel everything so deeply, down to the very hair(s) that slowly protruded from her hands. They knew that she had been unprotected from the harsh truths of the world: long before when she was stuck wandering aimlessly in her coma freely.

A nurse walked into the chill atmosphere, and began complimenting Artemis for her physical ability to sit up without aid of pillow or arms guiding her spine. She called Artemis by the name Ph.D, and the odd joke almost made her choke on her gelatin filled pudding. “What’s that now?” Artemis looked at her two coaches; for reassurance that the woman was being truthful, and they each nodded without nodding. The thinner man, seemed to be proud of Artemis for once. She felt her world whiz before her eyes, and began to concentrate as to why that name sounded so familiar. She returned to turning a silver spoon within her mouth as she enjoyed a cup of custard, not wanting to break with her composure. Her wide-eyes revealed the surprise of the new information. Being respected and titled in the world of education had been a vast part of her childhood dreams.

Her act of confidence had made it appear as though she doubted her own self-worth. The woman asked Artemis where her husband had wandered off to, as he wasn’t sitting in his usual placement in the hallway. Artemis began to cough and attempted to collect the pudding that slipped out of her mouth in confusion. Her life was a mess. “What’s happening now--what are you talking about?”, the woman looked at the two men at her side, and asked them if either of them had informed her of the tall stranger that was prone to glaring at her. She seemed uncomfortable being the bearer of bad news, and excused herself quickly after dropping the "H" bomb all over Artemis’s hopes and dreams.

Artemis looked at her two friends, wondering why each was avoiding telling her what the fuck was going on. The taller of the two coaches; explained that Artemis had been in an accident, attempting to reach him and fleeing a fight she couldn’t recall. The skinnier coach explained that Artemis had married the tall man many, many moons ago, but they’d been dealing with some issues --considering separation for irreconcilable differences. This made Artemis sad beyond words, as she now knew that he had been avoiding her bedside out of anger. The strange woman using a family emergency to console a "loving husband" had broken down a home into a nightmare situation. One where Artemis was told to step aside, and to stop "making things uncomfortable" when she asked for boundaries to be implemented on a gross pair of ex-lovers; that thought it was normal to demoralize the institution of marriage freely.

Maybe he questioned, as to why she had needed to rise to the pinnacle of her career, and attempt to abandon him soon after. Maybe he had seen Artemis was ok existing as a single woman again. Artemis pointed at the Viking lazily, and asked if they had ever done anything that’d jeopardize the legitimacy of her marriage: the Viking seemed to be blushing--complemented by the mere concept of being included as a competitor to the handsome fellow that was habitually absent. The younger coach seemed annoyed by this conclusion, and said “no”, in a manner that meant Artemis and the skinny man had finally mended their broken friendship. She shrugged her shoulders and said nothing else; listening to her friend, as he informed her of how a banshee had found her way into the warm home that Artemis now wished to burn to the ground. The trollish woman began to set up her life in the home of a happily married couple--wanting only to create discomfort, and paint a wife as "crazy, jealous, and immature" freely.

“So why is she here?, I don’t see myself as the kind of weak woman--that’d give my husband permission to fuck an average looking woman.” Both men seemed saddened by her response, as each had found the woman to be charming up until some point. The Viking had reminded Artemis that she was en route to meet with him, and that their "friendship" was “the reason” why-- her husband had asked the banshee to "visit" their home. The second man piped-in, as he informed Artemis that the strange woman had brought her mother as back-up; and they had an argument on the topic of privacy. Artemis now “needed” the blessings of a strange woman of no relation to either of them to give the greening light that their pairing was natural, kind and respectable. The mother had left their home--scolding her grown daughter for dragging her into someone else’s marriage, and somehow agreed with Artemis’s logic; as she’d mustered up the courage to speak within her own home freely.

“So this all happened, because I wouldn’t let a stranger into my bedroom?” Artemis was so lost as to how she’d gotten stuck in a bed-a sitting prop on wheels. The taller man seemed pretty bored by the story, whereas the younger one boasted--of how she had won an argument without anger or spite. “So I was rude, and then I got in an accident trying to run away from their bullshit?”. The younger coach continued on; with how she had laid out the facts for a practical loser-ish type of woman, and eventually asked what level of entitlement gave her the authorization to judge, ridicule, and corrupt a cozy home freely.

The mother had apologized, and informed Artemis that her daughter had an issue with boundaries and taking responsibility in her own actions. It was obvious the mother had done a lot of explaining on behalf of her daughters actions in the past. Artemis despised the skinny woman more and more by the second, but she thought it was funny; that she and the banshee’s mother were in agreement--wondering why she had been summoned to tour and burn down a strangers home freely.

They had shaken hands and said farewells on a cordial note--that upset the skinny childish-woman. Artemis crossed her arms: annoyed with herself for forgetting that loner had often used people as pawns to get her way. The second Artemis closed the door: her husband had questions as to why she had excused both women from returning into their lives. Artemis had seen the warning signs of a sociopath, and asked him why he “needed her protection”, as the friend had often strategically put it: his inability to answer the question; had forced her hand in needing a legal separation--to ensure her own safety, and to step aside from a flaky man; eager to return to his philandering ways freely.

Artemis had heard an echo of their argument, “you’re really just going to see him...aren’t you?”: he accused her of emotional adultery, with a man lovingly nicknamed the Viking. She had nothing to hide, he had tarnished their home--by putting her in danger and then accusing her of paranoia. “Absolutely”. Artemis had nothing to loose, because he never wanted to be with her in the first place: he had used her to feel loved to an extent. Dragging her along through life without needing to apply his own reciprocation. Artemis turned to leave, “I can’t stay married to a man I don’t respect...I deserve better, and we both know it”. She had no tears to shed for the man that shrank smaller by the fucking second. Artemis grabbed what little pride that was left, and escorted herself from the marriage and home he loved belittling. Artemis had known he’d never love her more than he loved himself, and leaving his side meant she could possibly find peace and respect in the arms of another: she’d be open to explore new forms of admiration and understanding freely.

The man had walked behind her yelling rude remarks, and in turn--Artemis started her chariot and left without saying a single word. There was nothing but perpetual hatred left to fill the home she had crafted for them. She gazed in the mirrors meant to gain sight to her peripherals, and spotted a familiar chariot behind her. It was the crazed woman and her mother, tailing her as though they needed her to pull over. Artemis was too tired for the game they were playing, and so she sped up a little--dialing the number of the Viking to explain her lateness. He didn’t appreciate changes to schedule, and she had no intentions of leaving him out to dry. By the time the sociopath had let go of her anger and drifted from sight: Artemis assumed the rational mother had finally talked some sense into her driver, and broken her repressed spell of psychosis. It had been enough to frighten Artemis; to the point where she had dropped her shield and fumbled to grab it up from the neighboring floor: resulting in her driving off a bridge by accident. The next thing she knew: Artemis was surrounded by her favorite people, smiling as she explained her surreal unconscious dreams.

Artemis felt her body shake, wondering why the woman had the audacity to show her face...forgetting tact and getting ahead of the evidence was her priority. The woman was clawing away at the tired arm of Orion; pretending to care, despite being the direct cause of the accident. The younger coach explained that the frail and unhealthy woman, had omitted the fact that she’d stalked and hunted Artemis--for over ten blocks. They began to exchange glances and the younger man excused himself, as he began writing frantically upon his shield. Artemis had no idea why they had assumed she was intoxicated and intentionally almost killed herself; out of grief for a marriage that was reaching the end of its lifespan. The Viking held her hand in a friendly way, and explained how he had defended her sobriety, and that their last conversation had forced the absent husband to grow livid-beyond-words. Orion hated when other people cared or defended her efforts and successes freely.

His ability to vouch for her vocally had been overshadowed by a scorned husband; that believed Artemis was “too broken” to stay sober. The Viking seemed so lonely: despite the fact she had been staring up at him with awe. Artemis felt her hand fall limp, his brow of worry and disappointment meant that he was tired of being included in her awful life story. “I don’t ever want to see you get hurt by my actions again sir, and I am so sorry I never told you how hard it was for me to walk away.” The Viking had heard too much, he had seen how upset her parade of friends were; by the mere sight of him at her bedside. He hadn’t any clue, as to how the end of their friendship had resulted in Artemis attempting suicide. It meant more, for her to let go of such conflicting heartache and his contradicting words--if it meant they could continue on as respected friends freely.

Artemis let his hand go at last, sighing and staring at the floor. Explaining the un-extraordinary day that had broken down her spirit, and left her stepping over the edges of a chair. “Yeah, I told you--that I wasn’t sure how I was going to get past losing my friend Ryan, but you told me to see a professional instead...because you thought I didn’t deserve a decent friend to confide in. Her life was full of people--dedicated to keep her arms length, unworthy of hugs and protection. "I was just so mad at you, for putting up your guard; I had to leave in order to be comfortable in being able to speak and process the ugliness of my life freely.”

The Viking looked at the floor to respond to her truthful words, as he politely ignored her slow falling tears. “It’s not you...I just don’t want to be anywhere.” Their silent understanding of her sickness, was interrupted by the tall stranger that seemed pleasantly surprised to see her at last. The younger coach had gone to bring him in--to meet his forgetful wife, and she felt her body recoil, as the words of their last conversation began to flood over her body--in a way that made her tremble with rage. “We should probably separate, you can’t seem to let go of the hand of a stranger, and I refuse to share a bed or home with her.” The man’s face fell, he didn’t think their reunion would pick up where their argument had left off. “Say something.” Artemis ordered him to act as though he fucking cared about her well-being...if only for a single conversation. He looked around the room and glared at the two men that stood guard over her: they took her side in silence. He seemed bound by embarrassment; unable to defend his actions freely.

Artemis looked at the floor and mumbled to herself. “I’m embarrassed that you’d rather believe that I was intoxicated--than to admit that “your friend” is a dangerous person, and I don’t deserve to be a victim of whatever twisted game you two are playing”. The man seemed annoyed that the Viking stood taller. Artemis had probably grown to cower to the endless glares of the beautiful stranger. “I didn’t know”... Artemis interrupted him and drifted her hand in the direction of the Viking, “you did...he told you exactly what had happened, and even informed you; that I was being hunted down by a deranged woman that damn-near kidnapped her own fucking mother.” The man seemed to turn boyish, and pouted by how much of the story the forgetful woman had managed to piece together. His excuse to mend a splintered marriage was derailed by a dear friend of Artemis: his nightmares were quickly bleeding into his reality, and replacing his sought after dreams.

Her two friends excused themselves, each bowing out and silently wishing the man good luck; through raised eyebrows and pursed lips. He began to explain how rude she had been, and realized his words were finally hollow upon her ears. Artemis had only wanted a signature--needing only for her freedom to be restored. Her silence scared him, and he began to speak in a softer tone that somehow annoyed her more than anything. He dropped his act, and asked what he had wanted to know all along: “you slept with him...didn’t you?”, Artemis moved away from him in disgust. “Not that I know of, but I can’t see myself declining...if the offer was ever set out on the table: pretty sure he’s still playing house with a sociopath at the moment, and there’s only so much shit I can handle from unstable people” Her forgotten husband seemed half-relieved, and half-startled that she had finally admitted to her obvious feelings towards the man with grey and meticulously kept hair without shame: smirking freely.

“I deserve to be happy, and I hope you can learn to respect that I’m allowed to have friends”. The young man returned to defending a stranger; yammering on about how they had been “only friends”. Artemis looked away, as she reminded him that their friendship involved fucking in the past, and that there was still a report to file; as to the direct cause of the accident that had stolen away her memories. “I had to take a detour: to accumulate proof of stalking--so I’m pretty sure we both know who is the “saner woman” in this story.” He asked her to give him a few days to sort things out, and Artemis grew angry by his need to care for a woman that caused such consistent destruction remorselessly; remorselessly trashing others marriages freely.

“You had months to ask her, and instead you let her stay by your side, and even had the audacity to bring her to my bedside. The law is here to protect me: I’m done making excuses for you and your negligent selfishness.” He heard none of it: coveting the swallowing thoughts, as to how he could warn “his friend” that Artemis had remembered the events of that day correctly, and then some. Artemis had nothing else to say on the matter, and so she began to ignore him in a way he had never been approached by: she pretended he didn’t exist altogether--pressing a button to seek aide from a professional, wanting a witness to excuse him from her room. Artemis had probably never wanted to divorce the beautiful stranger, but knew it was important to do for her sanity. Nothing was going to make him gain perspective, as to why she was forcibly chained to the title of being his "nagging and awful wife". Artemis began to take an invisible teethed device to the chains of their marriage. Wanted a break away from a man that could come and go with his aggressive mean-hearted temper freely.

One day he returned without saying anything, but he seemed saddened by whatever he had done outside of her room of medicine. Artemis felt him reaching for her hand--needing her to grab onto him: she rolled over, facing a bleak wall; leaving him to his pathetic vices. He smelled like a night filled with bevvy and cheerful talks unending--she was jealous that he had assumed Artemis was a drunk behind the wheel. Artemis could never mention his drinking to him: due to his sensitivity to her words. “That guy seems real cool, once you get to talking to him...after a few drinks...” She knew he had been talking about the Viking. Artemis felt her heart churn: why would he partake with a man he openly despised? “What are you talking about?” Artemis felt tears swelling up, she had hated that the man she had married loved to find new ways to humiliate her freely.

Artemis was silently bewildered, and began to wonder what the two men would even talk about. “Why didn’t you tell me about your friend Ryan?” Artemis felt so much of everything--whenever she thought of her slain friend, and she shrugged and stared at nothing. “You always just make fun of me for crying, and then you fucking let “your friend” decide who I was to you....a long, long time ago. Why would I waste our time together, talking about something--we both know you don’t care about?” The man said nothing for a moment, “so you tried to hurt yourself before we met?” Artemis hated that her story involved such awful topics, “yeah, I was so lost after Ryan was homicided, and it was really hard for me to be ok again after I left the Viking.” “He seems to know an awful lot about you…” Artemis remained perpetually silent and collected her words carefully--needing to defend their friendship in a way that was painfully truthful. “Yeah I think he just really needed a friend, he was so grumpy and old when I met him.” Artemis felt her soon-to-be ex-husband smile at her half-compliment, half-insult. They had never been able to talk about the moody friend without envy and insecurity taking over freely.

“He’s still pretty grumpy…” Artemis smiled and said “yeah, I know.” She lay there fiddling with thin bedding: needing him to stay, but remaining too afraid to ask. “Can I lay down with you?” Artemis said nothing, but scooched over to make room for the massive human attempting to apologize. He seemed so real to her, but she felt a growing worry that she’d forgotten something important as he held her tightly. She began to cry, out of tiredness brought on by chronic pain, and the impending conversions they’d have to continue as to the status of their marriage. “Your sister stopped by for a moment, I guess you never told her that we were married.” Artemis felt her eyes widen in fear, she hoped it had been Athena that had stopped by, and not Dianne: one would be quietly worried that she’d been hurt, and the other would be enraged that she’d been left in the dark over a marriage that didn’t even involve her. The mixed worry left tears to flow freely.

One sibling was treated polarizing emotions and fleeting annoyance, and the other avoided her diagnosis of psychopathy triggered at the hand of distant relative. Artemis said nothing, closing her eyes for a moment, and enjoying the embrace of a man she had so desperately wanted to love. He was the only person in the whole-wide-world that could keep her depression at bay. She had no reason to garner any thoughts towards people she’d barely known as a child, and so she drifted off to sleep where her dreams and nightmares could run rapid and freely.

Artemis often basked in the faint idea; that she was destined to be a future leader. The role of public figure to a rich culture opened her life up to strangers sending a barrage of questions as to the status of an heir. An oddly common topic discussed in her community, as they marveled at her accomplishments. She’d recall their disgusted looks, whenever she knelt over--to cater to her curses in getting hit by Zeus’s lightening and a hunched back. The life of a Princess was considered beyond lonely; for a good reason. These were not old curses or the toxic residue of an explosion; but an ongoing invasion--that Artemis defenseless to halt. Artemis juggled her fears of being left incapacitated and left vulnerable in the care of stranger, and kept such caution on the front end of a stove--remembering that Americans and Canadians; had resorted to illegally sterilizing Indigenous Warrior women freely.

Her life was forever at risk. The access to data and cached history had brought her solace. She had evidence that the citizens had been allowing their masks to fall away at last. They crassly used taxpayer dollars to commit ethnic cleansing in modern their times. Artemis had no other way to yell "fuck those monsters", and so she wrote a collection of myths to mend rage, and lay admittance to her sins. She had no voice or leg to stand on and yell. There was no need to declare war for her proclamation of deep insight-leaving only the option to build a coliseum; to cage and pin down the Boar and the Questionable Queen with her words of vile intentions freely.

Artemis remained fascinated; by how the two urine and tea loving leaders- ruled and regulated the fair trade of the world. When did they even find the time to commit Genocide? A curious fact that only the Indigenous Warriors seemed to care aboot or know. Artemis appreciated heated debates in University, laughing as people cared more about lands dripping with oil-than the ongoing murder and mutilation that were in direct violation of standing human rights acts. Their rebuttal was often silence, and or eye-rolling. As an introvert: Artemis knew when she was woefully defeated in a debate, and so she continued schooling reluctantly in silence. Being intelligent had been a burden to a woman that prioritized her surviving culture and the concept of race that had been implemented and overlooked freely.

To be kind-hearted, empathetic and educated--left her standing alone once more; falling slowly into the abyss of a comatose state. Orion had been her shield to the hopelessness that lingered in the words of their elders. He had been the buffer to a generation of "Traditional men", that were lost in their Tate’d beliefs that Artemis was only fit--to spread her legs like a prized beast; ready to be reared and produce them a prime offspring. Artemis had always been the one to point out their outmoded and contridictory expectations freely.

Artemis was afraid of her peers: having found proof that they openly wished death, rape, and desecration upon her and what little was left of the Indigenous Warriors. Their words were cemented in ink; left as footprint for eternity. They accused her of being ungrateful for being allowed to survive, or told that her sorrows were no different that theirs. She’d cross her arms--pointing out that a few drops of blood held the gold of giants, those of ancestors that had been led to their deaths in chambers of toxic air. The shamelessness of crude jokes, and the denial of her extraordinary ability to exist against all odds in surviving two separate genocides left her to smile without shame. She had stepped forward: tired of the false narrative meant to protect the emotions of the ignorant citizens--exhausted by the weight of the veil of denial. "FINE. LET’S CUT THE BULLSHIT". Nothing could measure the depth of such evil apathy, and so she decided to lay it all out in a encapsulated diary of words-exhilarated by facts, and her earnest desire to be disappointed by the actions of man freely.

Artemis would watch the Boar use the opposite method of speaking, as he spewed incoherent sentences like a drunkard. She found it odd and unfair, how time had separated the two leaders but held them each at the same level of accountability. A whole generation had gone boom, and then spent generations attempting to hush their following predecessors. They had beat a dead beast...and forced the youth to pick up bits of the carcass; wondering why they were desensitized to the bloodshed. They dragged along a mangled democratic system, wanting only a better tomorrow; needing to believe that the inherited mess held answers or could provided a realistic path for their blossoming dreams. Artemis began scooping out the waters flowing over the brim of their sinking canoe by hand, watching as citizens worried and complained about her technique--bored by the fact that Artemis was utterly alone in her efforts saving, and preserving what little was left of the integrity of America.

Many young people began to step in, observing how her technique kept the deck stabilized the shifting weight. Her only goal was to remain silent, and keep the canoe from capsizing under the shifting weight of elders running around and micromanaging the unexplained technique. The citizens began mocking the youth; laughing at their “uselessness and laziness”, despite the fact the decline in financial and hopeful desire had been drafted at their own hands. Artemis had stepped up as an impartial leader; calling bullshit on their never ending nonsense. She, herself had been conned by a system; drowning in student debt, and spiteful of some bitch named Betsy. It was an impossible battle to win, in repaying her superfluous fees with inflated interest. Life had stolen her valor, and Artemis was left ill. No amount of wealth could compensate the hopelessness she’d been dealt at birth. She remained silently weeping and carving away at the ruthless waters splashing all around her. Artemis was one of the few; a forgiving Indigenous Warrior that accepted her fate at the hand of an active Genocide committed by America.

Meanwhile, the Boar was busy...publicly lusting after his own daughter--as usual. Chasing her around an oval office; flirtatiously called her “baby”, and adorning her with physical closeness that made the world cringe. The embarrassment over his love of incest had cursed his zillionth wife with a permanent frown, and a fur coat that solidified her lack of caring. Artemis was no longer surprised by this white-trash culture, and moved far away from pseudonyms momentarily; to press on...about how deeply and truly fucked up the situation appeared to the rest of the world. She began targeting all those that wore red hats or hid behind metal accessory crosses and dead-eyes. Artemis was unafraid to point out the fact that these savages loved their rituals of incest and institutionalized racism, they had built their perverse nation on such principles. "Merica" (cough, cough)...America.

She sat content with warm drink, as she wished well for her best handful of close friends, Yoyo, Hippolyta and Roro (who was still a baby). Hippolyta and Yoyo had actually delivered their own babies, as they waited for Artemis to get her shit together. The women admired the newborns and noted that Artemis had been noticeably the last of the women to contribute to the Tribes. A topic that often made Artemis blush. Her status as a Princess left her wondering why such personal things were discussed--when she wasn’t present to defend her choices. They would make bets, as to which Indigenous Warrior she’d finally settle for. Artemis was too fearful of their situation, unwilling to bring another person aboard the sinking canoe that was America.

More often than not the citizens wasted their time doubting her capabilities. Even Hippolyta had placed her bets on Orion, a redwood-sized human with sharp eyes and a gentle demeanor. He had wandered in and out of Artemis’s life with consistency, forever at arms length; cruel and unforgiving. Ruthlessness had saved Artemis from a tale of tragic suicide; a curse that plagued the Indigenous Peoples.

Artemis had practiced overcoming such helplessness when healing from her heartbreak over a yelling Viking. Yoyo was Canadian, and held her secrets and opinions close to the vest with proud passivity. She’d politely object to suggesting a partner for Artemis, as she just softly giggled at the mere idea of a smaller Tila casually destroying the land. The women had always held such conversations with seriousness--as equals, for the women had never seen one another naked. This was odd: despite the fact that the two had always found each other to be mates in sleepover settings, and were on the same athletic team for years. Tis’ such modesty: instilled in all Indigenous Warrior women: they had all been raised to understand that their nakedness was demonstrably sinful. Their prudishness friendship was normal for their community--fetishized by others citizens that mocked their Traditional robes as costumes. The dead-eyed colonizers chanted wildly, making barbaric noises and claiming to be savages. The Indigenous Warriors carried on past the horrific parades of bullshit, content with a new found freedom from the religious and domestic terrorism that fell upon America.

Artemis held dear and guarded a unique sequence of trauma-laced DNA. There was a founded worry as to which errors in her coding would be transferred to potential offspring. She simply put that idea on the back-burner, as though it were a topic to visit--only after she had successfully tasted the stars. Artemis was left wondering if it had been her ambitions, or the daydream of future children; that called her name through the static rain that fell behind a prized Golden Apple. Artemis promised her friend that she’d consider preserving her golden eggs on ice--accepting that her spine jeopardized the safety of her future self and potential pregnancies. She had no intention of being left behind in a Genocide that corroded at the lineage of the forgotten Tribal Peoples.

Artemis was honest in the commitment to uphold her royal bloodline. There was a stabilizing aspect to counteract the deep woe that threatened her ever breath--she was now and forever “fake-famous”, for her extraordinary sky-boats. Artemis had made waves in calm waters, by making objects go supersonic and her tale of grand accomplishments had been deliberate oppressed and ignored by a place laundering monies through donations, taxes, and the wrongful possession of artifacts that rightfully belonged to the surviving Indigenous Peoples.

Artemis had done all of that for herself, and believed that her trailing Indigenous Warriors held more potential than what little shift in time she’d applied to a crooked system. Artemis crossed her arms silent and dangerous; wondering why people were reluctant to invest their faith endlessly with Roro and her sincere smile. Artemis had served as the emotional support of a thousand men, and Roro held her hugs firm enough to calm the unconstrained fear that rang in Artemis’s voice whenever it shook. This was the unforgotten love of all of their Ancestors...rolled up into one wee pudgy baby. A small mortal--that occasionally licked sandpaper and fancied average looking rocks. Artemis worried aboot her friend everyday, as Roro was cursed to be called a tall brown woman in America.

Artemis would admire those who she shared a community with, and the babies that were now all-hands-on-deck of the helm of a sinking ship: floating along with the turbulent waves of their modernized version of the never-ending Trail of Tears. Artemis had always relied on Orion--to help her with a mess. She childishly admired his ability to be helpful on occasion, and was often charmed by his bored tenacity. His talents on wooden courts unarguably made him the center of attention, as his glare was often complimented by his immense stature. Plenty of women with holy braids threw themselves desperately along the path of such a handsome and capable Indigenous Warrior-and Artemis had just been his baseline of whatever boxes he had wanted to be checked off on a list for a potential partner. They lived in a twirling dance; skirting around the assumed responsibility of carrying on a bloodline. Both forever angry that the other was stubborn and unable to find a common ground--starting with the fact that Artemis had said nothing about her application to join the stars. She had wanted to craft fenced boundaries--where such accomplishments belonged to herself alone, and she had allowed them to be shared with the community of the Indigenous Peoples.

America had tortured the Tribal citizens that begged for clean drinking water, and resorted to extortion to meet ticket quotas. The enemy lined along a southern region; lent badges and bricks to those along the border. The "protection officers"--build new concentration camps with the star shield of justice as collateral. They created separation camps for those with glowing skin, and the public servants used their government and privately funded positions; to sexually assault the unaccompanied minors, and infants in their tax-funded facilities. Such beautifully executed tactics in Genocide could only be found in the great Nation known to the world, as America.

These iron boars that encircled the death camps, were intimidated by the fact they were being left behind by the present. Frantically shooting blindly, as they proved their fears and biases with statistics. They placed bounty and evidence--until their laws objectively allowed them to shoot children and those unarmed physically, or by way of mental capacity. Artemis was “wee” in a sense, but it would be these boars that hunted her relentlessly that freaked her out. She wondered if they knew that her fate lay at their boot. Artemis lived in the crippling fear of the bias and prejudice of this flock of iron boars. The world fell in step with her anxiety, watching silently as she cried in confusion. The citizens finally began to remove their hats, and take knee in apology to her future as a cripple. This was what music must look like she thought to herself. The undignified statistics had finally began to build up as tension and undeniable guilt. The citizens were finally lucid-ready to admit that her trauma had been the expense paid for the development of America.

She wept in darkened quietness of midnight, unable to sleep or let go of obvious mistreatment, and wondered if this was what her ancestors imagined when they had forfeited their lives to save her. Everyone hated her existence. Artemis felt the world discuss her pain and shame in having agitated a stray immoral iron boar. It had to be someone’s fault; why not blame the brown lady standing idly by? Her life was always going to be seen as less-than, disposable in the eyes of America.

Artemis knew that the iron boars were simply people at the end of the day, and that their idea of luxuries meant having a bad day, and killing children and innocent citizens in their choreographed crossfires. This was an anthem of murder that they blared across her lands and the world: openly announcing the core values of what this Nation wished to perpetuate for all of recorded history. Artemis watched the massacre of children, and wondered when the last time had been; that anyone had authentically and automatically associated greatness with America.

Artemis laughed to herself bemused, as all those around her underestimated her strength. Observing as her kingdom of Indigenous Warriors collapsed upon itself, capsizing slowly with the passing of untimely deaths that seemed to be without end or reason. This had been the case for the years following the loss of her friends AJ, and Buckles. Artemis had felt utterly alone until the arrival of her ever-present white wolf named Orion. He would be a rock that grounded her, and protected her from the crumbling kingdom that eroded beneath their feet. The strange Indigenous Warrior had helped her finally hit a stride of success, and eased her into a life of self-discovery. She was without words; unable to discuss the grief that bubbled beneath the surface. Artemis knew her cold and distant demeanor was seen as a trait perfected in her childhood; barely-surviving a life of endless abuse at the hand of guardians paid by the taxes of America.

It was simply easier to lock away her troubles in unbothered nooks of her heart. Orion had been similar to her friend Buckles, as he had caught a glimpse of Artemis--deciding instantly from then-on-out: his obligation was to be at her side. The broad shouldered youth had been one of the only Indigenous Warriors that Artemis cared for. Orion loved protecting her, and it was very scary for Artemis to comprehend. He led by example; instructing Indigenous Warriors to kneel, as he roared at their ugly-heartedness. He had a silent way of condemning the Indigenous Warriors that chose to be useless. He seemed offended that their Princess lay incapacitated by seizures, as the citizens stalked her day-in-and-day-out, and left her defenseless to the creepy masses that traveled to capture her portrait in gold. Such apathy was all that was left to define the finest Warriors known to the history of the world: the Indigenous Peoples.

The Indigenous Warriors often questioned the oddly understandable pairing of the Princess and a white wolf of a man. They had missteps compiling into errors; by underestimating the quick-witted pair. The entire world forgot that the two had enjoyed finding one another lifetimes over again. They repeatedly proved their compatibility via historically accurate simulations set in the form of a children’s game. Obstacles and achievements were labeled as life and skills, and the two had been tasked to re-live their past; to find one another with a series of kisses. Such wild dreams served as logical reasoning to the chaos that swallowed Artemis alive. She began to write down her dreams, and explained her romanticized expectations to Orion in their quirky pillow-talks. Artemis wondered why he put up with her vivid imagination, and left his side reluctantly in the growing fear that her dreams were unattainable memories. She knew they were special individually, and invaluable as a unit: the worst qualities found within the ranks of the Indigenous Peoples.

Artemis knew that it would be the apocalypse--if Orion and the Viking were to ever meet, as their energies were incompatible in a multitude of ways. Their passions for directing Artemis would make them contradict one another, and deflect from any solutions from ever being offered. She knew they each took insecurities as personality traits personally. The Viking was pensive and a loner figure, whereas Orion enjoyed being center stage and desired fame. Artemis worried that the Indigenous Warrior at her side, would leave the Viking animated in ways that would destroy the world. It was an absolute wonder to watch the Viking fight his own jealousy. He’d be forever curious as to what Artemis saw in Orion-needing it to be bigger than the small fact that that he was seen as leader to the Indigenous Peoples.

Artemis had once witnessed the Viking make rude remark aboot one of his own scholars for having a “stupid haircut”. The comment was warranted--but dealt out because the Viking had been forced to watch Artemis flirt with him on multiple occasions. He seemed thrown-off and distracted that another man had pursued her so casually. It was tough to work around his vain sensitivity. Artemis had once hit on the Viking very publicly, as she admired his fresh haircut. He decidedly responded; venting that the woman he referred to as “the girlfriend” hadn’t even noticed. His efforts in vanity were wasted on her, but her father had noticed his freshly-cut glow. She affirmed the Viking, that he was not crazy--interrupting his uncalled-for story, and mustering up what little courage she had. Most days he had been cast in her mind to be similar to a two-dimensional character named for his role in being a captain to America.

Artemis attacked with as few words possible, informing the aging Viking that he was indeed strikingly attractive, and looking away from him as she blushed. "You look very nice today". She pointed out that a sharp haircut was a male trait that Artemis and the Viking both treasured. The Viking would never leave the woman he claimed to love, and so Artemis was forced admit defeat as his best friend at his side-after two years of bullshit had occurred. Artemis often believed he had actually made his girlfriend up: until an odd Siren named Winkler had began following Artemis, plucking at her with questions as she following her home. The Siren demanded to know every aspect of her existence...all the way down to her parents occupation. The mean-girl play had been dictated by a insecure fourty-something year old lady employed at the University. Such vile, immature and shameless forms of stalking weren’t unique to America.

Artemis had nothing to hide, as their friendship was reciprocated and entertaining as fuck. Arms held outstretched, and his smirk held firm--they would dance on wooden courts forever if they could. Not needing to de-robe, or pass the threshold of friendship into romantic waters. Artemis often tested her ability to push the buttons of the Viking; utilizing her male-dominated terrains to hide her "sparkle" beneath rags. She reminded herself that a pretty girl was still pretty...even in rags. Artemis occasionally caught the Viking staring at her in the peripherals of his narrow framed lenses. He seemed fascinated by how comfortable she existed as an outsider, a woman held to a different standard than the rest of America.

Artemis knew he was infatuated with her, it wasn’t a mystery. There were witnesses that could attest to his confusing mannerisms, as he yelled compliments across rooms and lobbies, and chased her down to ask what she was up to on a Wednesday. Artemis was a bit unnerved by his habit of standing within earshot of her at first, as he continually tried to figure out what the woman was always laughing at. She knew it’d be a dire shit-show if the Viking and Orion ever met, and caught herself holding in a deep breath-- avoiding investing thoughts into the implausible. Both men, were always standing at her sides within her dreams: taking turns holding one of her hands. One man would always clean up her mess without needing to be asked, and the other would walk away with her heart, and return it with minor repairs. One man had no culture of his own, and the other held a mild solution to preserving the genome of the Indigenous Peoples.

Artemis watched as Paris was quite literally on fire, and thought off in a daydream--of how ironic it felt to witness the world burn to the ground. Artemis were bored and unarmed--sat stuck surrounded by fire and laughing at her own daydreams. Humming near the flames; as a Viking questioned her priorities in caring for what was left of her soul. Artemis filled her eyes with blood-filled tears and static--swaying as she informed the Viking it had all been to preserve her sanity, mumbling a sensible tune to herself "So I Don’t Let Me Down". She had left the Viking standing along a polluted river; needing him to see the distance in culture that was drafted at the hand of America.

Large disasters made her miss Orion, as his hands were warm and he casually looked like a modern-day Achilles. Orion would often smile and ask “what” in his amusement to her avoidance in looking his way. The dashing shyness only displayed with her was something that never seemed to waiver, as she loved him most--when he wasn’t naked. Artemis often admired his vast stature every time he stood up and tilted her head to observe a high-perching bum as he walked off into the distant. Artemis wondered if he knew the effect his presence had on her. Orion often called her angry, and expressed his frustrations in following her train of thought. His curt personality was always appreciated by her, as he never questioned why she had asked him to kneel. She was always the fool that needed him-he could care less about her existence most days. Artemis would always reconnect and find reasons to miss him at night. She missed his vast arms holding her close to his chest; hoping that his safe and warm embrace could bring proper sleep. Orion was always busy somewhere herding his cattle back and forth upon a horse or following women into their bedrooms. His talents in redirect were used in both circumstances. The man was notorious for his skills directing cattle, and a beautiful wool coat that was splashed with bright colors and loud patterns. A famed robe known only as a Pendleton to all those that were blessed enough to call themselves the Indigenous Peoples.

It were always odd for Artemis to express her feelings to others; she had been cursed with depression and therefore over-romanticizing things. The trait had gotten her hopelessly lost in the past. The idea of her life being a social experiment gifted a crippling paranoia that directed her whole life. Yoyo often assisted Artemis down a path that couldn’t/wouldn’t include Orion. They were each competitive; but within moments upon meeting--it was clear that Yoyo was number one. At all things…for all the times. A broken tension of female toxic expectations shattered by their friendship, and Artemis’s need to make shitty remarks at awkward times to compensate for the fact she was born in America.

Artemis had once been floored by a blonde woman she met barfing up fake foods as they jogged. She made a purpose to re-introduce herself to the girl, as an equal; a teammate. Artemis told Hippolyta of her admiration in athletic abilities, and for a short time--her, Artemis and Yoyo had been inseparable. Her sincerity in compliments was backed by her excitement for athletics and held upfront with a respectful confidence. It seemed wise to fight alongside the introverted woman, as opposed to letting their matching characteristics deem them as enemies. Little did she know--the dirty-blonde woman known for her skills on court, and sexual proclivity, would prove herself to be untrustworthy. Artemis had found out the the hard way--that her presumed best friend was "not a girls-girl’, but instead; a sketchy and vindictive person. It had been through no fault but her own, for forgetting that the pale woman and her fucking exhausting personality--had been crafted at the hand of America.

Artemis would be jealous, and often felt threatened by her pleasant personality that rang false. Artemis was always the first to correct people that Hippolyta was “the white girl”. Waiting for the frizzy haired girl to dazzle the crowds surrounding wooden courts. She had a way with men that Artemis couldn’t ever achieve, as the girl often flaunted her sexuality whenever the poison of Hera touched her lips. Artemis had the exact opposite problems to Hippolyta, as they had called Artemis an Apple. The derogatory term suggested that she were living in costume, red on the outside and white on the inside. A crude statement meant to shame Artemis for having invested in refining her ability to speak “proper English” and dress in Western Garb on occasion. These were considered shallow personality archetypes that proved the assimilation of indigenous Warriors had been successful in America.

Artemis belonged nowhere, and she often felt burdened in pretending that the American dream had ever been intended for her. There was no place where she belonged. Artemis was forever naked with trailing ties or attempting to shoulder the burden of oversight of a massive chip upon her shoulder. There was nothing for her here amongst the ashes. Outside of defeat and humiliation at the hands of the Tribal members like Hippolyta. The cursed dead-eyed savages were in agreement to such frivolity--excited by the concept of keeping Artemis forever impoverished to the mounting debts raked-up by the Boar; titillated by the spilled tea between ex-best friends. The boyish King had began to sell the land beneath their feet, and painted his name in “uggeee” gold letters. He expanded his territory--to include the entire world, and Artemis was stuck in a propitious state of disbelief. She’d scrunch her brow, as their leaders eagerly bent over and took his mushroom-like dick in their willing-and-ready backsides. Their masochistic love for dark monies, and artillery--held the world leaders captive to a rapidly deteriorating Boar that clumsily grabbed his dick; grunting and penetrating them into a spell of submission. America.

Next Chapter: [ XXIV ] Artemis and the Belt of Achilles