Artemis yawned emotionally each morning, and gave herself a high five for having survived another night of sleepless nightmares without having died from suffocation or seizure. She had only wanted deep slumber: instead she often awoke startled with the excited banging of children upstairs. They were stampeding in a sugar-rushed haze, ready in their Holiday best outfits. Their appearance as young old people was too cute to ever be mad at. She just lolled and stretched herself awake in their unapologetic charm.

Artemis had avoided discussing her opinions on the Three Kims that terrorized the North in her Odyssey until now. Her need to understand circumstances had finally marched her to view a strange blue line of “peace”. The land was ran by a strange young boy and his blind sycophants, as the Titan was in need of constant babysitters around-the-clock. The immature leader had been notorious for stomping around and causing havoc. It felt wrong and odd to have Holiday celebrations when there was young sex addict grunting his own name “un” over and over again as he trickled his wee hand around an button labelled with four letters. ICBM. The dictator danced aboot with madness and tickled the rims of a toxic red button: feeding his face full of shit whenever he wasn’t talking. He had inherited the digital codes to break the case passed down from his father: a poor fool... forever cursed with a young death. Artemis found humor that the successor was always “il”, and wondered if he knew of his impending premature demise. She laughed to herself and her own timeless wit, as she avoided showing teeth in content and raising her eyebrows in confusion. Forever dis-concerned by the growing armies applauding the perverse and twisted demeanor of the young boy as it blossomed the second his father passed. He was a product of his own environment...in tune with the values these dictators “sung” throughout empty chambers. Such a pathetic waste of land she thought: missing her metal weapons only as of lately. Artemis was almost tired of holding her broken bow, but assumed her rage meant she wasn’t ready to arm herself with the weapons of the enemy just yet. She liked the smoothness of her bow handle, and it had been the same bow encouraged her Papa to gift her with the name: Artemis. Calling for her to come inside and wash-up for super, and silently amused that she were momentarily preoccupied charging across the lawn at full speed into an invisible battle. The child was a fool on the battlefields...blindly charging into war unarmed with nothing but a broken string and her Spartan charm.

Such memories made her sad forever in the daytime, and the night had been reserved for her time to produce tears unending. She’d hold back such happy childhood memories in fear of being told to get over her grief once more. Her papa had once caught her lost in six-year old thoughts, and when he asked what she had been thinking: she began to weep. Her body had a way of expressing her fear of self-expression: for her liberties were often held at threat. The nightmares she had each night were proving to be memories that haunted her thoughts during the day. Her anxiety was a thin as a mirror with only one way, as though the lack of shadow stripped her naked. The child resisted thinking of her rape she had endured as an infant by day dreaming of herself singing upon stages in darkness and the standing ovations that followed. She hadn’t the words to explain at the time, and so she said nothing and began to cry in shame for believing that she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about such violent things. Her papa had just seen that she were frustrated by her lack of cohesive expressions and used the moment to remind her that she should get used to feeling lonely, as it seemed isolating to be the “smartest person in most rooms”. His words were a band-aid and a reminder each morning. Giving her the divine strength needed to hold up an invisible armour and shield to protect her emotions: cast by the weight of a thousand tons of churning water. Aching with each fiber of her being, as she barely held up her own diaphragm with each breath she took. Artemis had finally stepped from her throne and admitted that she were too young and too tired to suit up to battle on unfair grounds. She had needed to admit the need for weapons, if only to bring forth peace. Tired of being the only non-barbarian with non-primitive weapons: ready to handle some deadly mechanics.

Artemis knew little of the ruler of the secluded North: outside of his what she had viewed of his captured golden portraits. She was quite fond of the one of him hysterically skipping along corridors: lined with gold penises. Artemis had no issue saying she enjoyed a solid gold penis from time to time: as would any other lady. She had no need to shame those utilized the golden penises of all shapes and sizes, as she whole-heartedly understood what it meant to be tired of the awful men that usually came attached with flesh penises. She admired the efficiency of self-love, and encouraged the healing to use the penises out of the box for whoever required it. Still...Artemis knew she herself, wouldn’t ever use an office title and public financial resources to platform such crass topic. Not out of prudery, but out of concept. She observed the young sex-craved dictator, as he blatantly ignored sweeping epidemics of poverty and famine to tour all things sexually-taboo. She observed him and took note with monotone narration: only stating her opinions on his dictating skills and the specific timing in his choices. His battle strategy lacked fundamental mechanics.

Artemis marveled at his timing...or lack of timing. She simply admired him played among his shelves of gold phallic toys as he held them close to his face and stared at the rows longingly, as though hoping they’d all come alive at once for his pleasure. “Calm down dude”…she would whisper to herself: ready to be mad at whoever put a random man-baby in charge, unaware that it had been three generations of such deviousness and corrupt depravity. Artemis felt reassured that she could be a more professional leader than that random kid...if the circumstances arose where the entire world was out of options kind of deal. Her avoidance in accepting her fate in exceptionalism was congruent in displaying part of her charm.

Artemis had taken a break from editing her fully written book momentarily to pursue real life. She had the encouragement of the finicky trolls of all those had knowingly already Read-it. She had taken a risk in sharing her story in permanent ink, and found that she avoided editing at some pretty extreme costs. Her lazy avoidance had pushed her from the nest of her darkened world, and back into reality. She always felt nervous in expressing positive stories, as her life held very few up until this point. Even typing such faithful truths caused her to silently cry in fatigued embarrassment. After all...Artemis had severe depression. Her joys were so vibrant that she wished she could scream at the top of her lungs, but Artemis had been raised in an urban jungle...where the people would commonly yell past shuttering and flickering lights. The idea of perfect strangers never kept her city from the one random yelling “shut up lady” out their window until she was broken down into fits of giggling. It had given her a shrug of understanding and amusement, and left her city a voice of silliness. She loved that place for such reasons. The city itself had taught her to take things more seriously, and then it turned around and made fun of her for taking herself “too seriously”. The rainy city forced her to seek help at the Blue Shield of Hope, as her river was polluted and the rain it produced was now making the people of her city sick with sorrow and despair. Not at the same magnitude of the huge city up North where Hawks guarded the Sea, but they were catching up to their statistics pretty fast. Artemis had to leave her city in order to make them proud, and she did just that. Trading her criminal robes for a small Blue Shield of Hope. She went years in disguise as a normal person, and finally sighed realizing that she had been placed on a spotlight as an intern. Her orphan resiliency was on brand with proving the government agency wasn’t comprised of elders with hearts made of stone.

Artemis had taken off her veil of sadness and tucked it away for a proper unveiling of such a dark artifact. Using psychology to update her emotional systems, and debug her hippocampus of the guilt she felt in being a sociopath. A guilt that she had implemented through self-will, as she deserved to express her gratitude for life and all those in hers. She uploaded gratitude in smiles and hugs and distributed them as she saw fit, and the habit integrated itself until her sincerity was neither real nor fake. She lived in the now, but daydreamed of the pain she had felt in the past and masked it visuals of an image of her dancing amongst the clouds. Artemis now stopped her mental performances to listen to current events of the endless lectures provided by her personal red tubes. She had missed the deadline to sell books, but gained admittance into a masters program in managing sports. Artemis was to return to midwest in spirit, until she needed to be on location to her PhD program. Her maniacal laughter had been crafted to distract how naked she felt without the title PhD as her title. As though people had forgotten to pronounce the first letter in her name, or something equally pivotal to what humans call individualism. Artemis without an A sounded like an intoxicated person calling another person a mess. She’d shrug to herself as such hooded thoughts were too silly for most people to get. It didn’t matter that people didn’t get her dry crumpet filled humour, as Artemis was finally making money moves towards making a better future for herself. She had to use her silly boredom to apologize specifically to her literally squad MVP Leo. Her need to applaud helpfulness was a small thank you to the random that bought the first copy of her book. His simple ok and click had forced her groan at the idea of actually having to finish her edits and illustrations. The unknown neighbor had forced Artemis to return to her undisclosed project, and continue on her habit of finishing projects within the deadlines. She wasn’t an Indian Giver, and the completion of her Odyssey could serve as a tool to help others. After all...Artemis was a living Horcrux. Her every breath was in defiance of the cultural utilitarianism that she had accepted as the norm. Admitting she may be angry as a human, but it was from the past of being called trash and orphan. Not from the notion that her glistening skin made her “less than” or genetically inferior to Boar and the lot of epigenetic fanatics that were left with her existence to “deal with”. Artemis had cracked her neck from side to side in a cacophony of frantic: mumbling to herself “Rock Chalk babyyyy” and hearing the humming of wooden courts calling her name once more. Taking up her weapons of silver and gold and finally earning her place in a haunted tower...accompanied with man-made rolling mounds and lakes. Artemis was determined to retrieve her kingdom from the rule of the drunk son of a bitch named Peachy. Her orchestra swelled to violently destroy anything slow with banality, and finally daring each step to disagree with the purpose in each and every one of her light-footed steps. Her ability to say “fuck it” and achieve academic success was her personal trait and favoriute charm.

Artemis held her breath until then. Watching as the Boar began squealing and yammering nonsense and his relationship with the young dictator deteriorated overnight. He had accused the young Tyrant of being a “Little Rocket Man” and in retaliation their nation pointed their weapons at his head. Artemis would just shake her head...knowing that smaller rockets are often capable of higher speeds and equally as dangerous. The young and old dictator: both weilded insults from each of their representative lands, and Artemis was the only one understanding that neither men should own access to red buttons or state-taxes. Their glutinous and sexually charged anger was going to bring death and despair across the entire planet, and yet...neither tyrant understood basic science. Artemis had used the young leader to lure the Boar out from his concrete forest, and the baited idiot had taken a bite out of her premonition: placing a cursed wreath upon his thinning tuft of hair with a stingy giggle. Traveling through countless dimensions to seek the two in their marital quarrel before it was too late for mankind. Artemis had realized her age meant nothing: in the context of understandings general human rights violations. Tisk…Tisk… she’d click with her tongue in her sadistic sighs. Swaying to her beeping tones produced from her Golden Fleece: knowing this were no beast to be slain. Her golden apple was never to be used as a weapon, as it had created their known simulated universe and projected their realty to be powered by the words that fell endlessly within the mechanism.

Artemis had heard a small faint voice in her void of static. The woman was unharmed by her current appearance, but she was trembling despite the fact she had escaped the land of terror that she had been born unto. Artemis heard her faint pleas, and saw their similar petite similarities: both women had mighty voices that tore down veils, walls, and expectations of all those around them. Artemis asked the woman what of her worries, and the woman began scream at the top of her lungs. She rambled on about a tyrant child dressed like his father, and of the horrific customs her people were practicing. She described how her citizens were going insane with starvation, resulting to cannibalism...slaughtering the hallucinations of stray animals that they held as true, and realizing that they couldn’t find the children that they had accidently eaten the night before. Artemis worried that her own citizens were prone to the same sentences of starvation, as she, herself had been sentences to similar cruel and unnusual punishments: having had her food withheld as a child, and suffered from malnutrition that manifested into physical issues, unstablized moods and educational development issues. Much like the sloth-like-dictator that lashed his citizens with insanity and starvation: Artemis was raised by a gluttonous villain that hid her abuse by way of propaganda and patriotic charm.

Neither dictator knew of her existence yet, and Artemis used the camouflage of peasant hood to stand nakedly in plain sight. The young tyrant began to threaten more than the Boar and his goons, as he had made public statement of a Christmas gift set-up that would straight light this up. Artemis didn’t take kindly to threats, as the man-baby had now threatened innocent babies and citizens alike. She could have that shit go down as long as she could still stand and fight. It was one thing to invade with boots on the ground, but to haphazardly decimate an entire Nation was literally the dumbest thing she had ever heard, considering the impending war was started by two men she assumed suffered from erectile penis dysfunction. The entirety of the situation was like a satire play ran amok by a script rewrite takeover. She wondered what the world would do if she used her individualized red tube to spoof the two men. The feat wouldn’t be hard...as all she’d need to do is read their words verbatim. The irony of the sexism was too much silliness for her alone to handle. Quoting the boar as a female would definitely produce a more formidable understanding as to how little this Nation thought of its women. Knowing that if she were to go around and publicly grab random men by the dick...insanity and the law would ensure her actions. Where as the Boar had ran for office on a campaign advocating for sexual assault. When the Boar ran wild and grabbed the citizens wives by the pussy…the men laughed in good spirits and thanked him for assaulting their wives and mothers with his undeniable charm.

She construed her face and waved her arms frantically as she yelled at nobody…. “And you think it. You know I’m like a really good businessman.” holding back fits of laughter that could break her character. “Na”... this land deserved the Boar, as he served as a beautiful “maybe the most beautiful” display of privilege that captured the antithesis of their patriotic values. The Boar loved his favorite phallic shaped state, and Artemis always found it odd that he had now painted their Nation as the phallic state of the entire world. Wondering why the citizens made fun of one eccentric state, but forgoed in accepting their ugly place on the world stage. Artemis apologized on their behalf, and for the drought that hindered the trade of oranges. She didn’t take famine lightly and figured it was a good time to point out the crop decimation following the warming of their planet. Science bitch. He was pretty on brand with how Artemis saw a majority of the dead-eyed savages, and she wondered why the citizens held absolutely no shame in with their perverse, incestuous, urine-drenched Chief in Command. She needn’t bullets or silver birds, as her greatest weapon had been her intellect in understanding people. She was left shrugging with indifference to her political circumstances, and bored by all that she had learned thus far. Artemis needn’t throw rude name calling aboot in order to thwart the Boars temporary mood, and she looked forward to smiling at him and asking how his best friends Jeff and Andrew were doing. Knowing that she could derail the Boar with his own truth, as he’d be forced to change his personality to defensively detach himself from affiliation with their child sex-rings. Artemis worried he’d run away from her questioning, and so she lassoed the Boar the Jeff and Andrew indefinitely until she could figure out their connections with material proof and witnesses that had now become adults and tax-paying citizens themselves. They were in the same boat as Artemis...knowing their past and wondering why the world had called children and infants sluts as the powerful and rich raped the youth as they pleased. The elders had said they believed they could harness the energy of youth through the act of sex, and they had brought the word pedophilia with them on their ships in order to “gain the power of immortality”. Artemis remembered hearing such warnings and finding the situation to be indicative of the values coveted by the dead-eyed savages that had once successfully colonized Artemis and her family. The Boar had found himself in the center of a massive scandal over his love of all things young and beautiful, and nakedly holding his aging mushroom capped dick on his own accord. The Boar was now forever entangled with the word pedo and sex-trafficking, and his odd lack of memory in his “unbecoming friendships” served as proof that he were either deteriorating mentally or using his lies to deflect from his past by hiding behind the Questionable Queen as a last-defense mechanism.

Artemis wrote, and wove her necromancy: urgently stitching together her thoughts and recollections, for what seemed like an eternity. The more she admired her own work, Artemis wondered why her listless energy was considered evil: where as the Boar, and the “Little Rocket Man” were congratulated and bestowed honorary titles for being lazy humans. The only differences in their circumstances was that the two men had nub penises that “proved that they were men”, and Artemis had no penis to offer the council of men that refused to look in her direction. She needn’t slay the young Tyrant. That much was for sure. The Boar would always backtrack any efforts she could ever make in encouraging peace and change, and Artemis labelled him as a lost cause and wishing him nothing more than a public death. Not one of violence or revenge, but at the hand of his own greediness. Knowing the Boar would always excitedly clog his arteries with false foods. The other tyrant was no different, as he too...had words aplenty, but lacked the Warrior physique that suggested he would, or even could, charge into battle alongside his own military. Artemis only saw a sad, gluttonous boy sitting alone on his floor: avoiding crying over the mourning of his father. It had been the age old story of toxic masculinity, a story too complex for words, and a deep emotional trauma that she related to...all too well for comfort. It was the abandoned anger in losing a male mentor and having your life destroyed in a day and replaced with a of blackened sorrow. Their grief filled with boredom unending and a disdain for authority: endless goals and resources being wasted at the hand of their own personalities. The lack of interest in world affairs was always perceived to be immaturity and called out by random elders during their youth. The demeaning tactic has now proved to be unhelpful to both leaders, as they were constantly pressed to “take things seriously” even when they had been children. Artemis hadn’t inherited her kingdom when her Papa passed the way the “Little Rocket Man” had, and their difference in empathy served as tribute that her Papa had made the right call in alluding certain information to Artemis upon his death. Her sadness would have consumed her whole...had he given her his red white and blue woodpecker Headdress as a child. Even today, Artemis avoided breaking traditions in dawning her masculine crown...crying to herself in exhaustion and frustration that her Papa never got to see her take her place on the throne. Her female beaded leather crown had been cursed in projecting an endless burdensome lack of female charm.

Next Chapter: [ XXIX ] Artemis and the general Custard