It would seem that the vulgarity placed in the previous memories--had soaked past the tumultuous parameters of a gore-filled game: Artemis played along unwillingly. The machine had ultimately been assembled to past the time away; avoiding the judgemental words of an elder sibling. Sharp-wording, or fair-sided opinions could bring out the most disturbing behavior from certain personality disorders; those eyeing a reason to qualify a person to be labelled as causing trouble. Luckily, Artemis didn’t have any reason to question other peoples understanding of reciprocity in world peace in most rooms--on most days. There was little left of such lawless diseases. The book had began its course; following an elderly woman named Lori--who had set aflame an entire family tree; deemed sickened with darkening leaves and distant branches. There wasn’t much to say when observing her bubbly demeanor; she had shed all personas with the arrival of an educated journalist named Nate--breaking down the shielded laughter and soft voice one unpleasant interaction at a time: the woman remained convinced of her righteous path while others refused believe the manufactured grins of a person hiding behind such unreasonable silliness.

Artemis found herself banned from short stories indefinitely, for having lazily placed an arrow along the shaft of a broken bow, and missing the mark--a stray path had been traced back to her; citations came in the form of exile. The words explaining an overweight man lusting after his prepubescent daughter was deemed too unfit for public consumption--imagine that. The act of walking away while others were watching was forever embarrassing; to be party to a barbaric punishment that left her hands tied until the next platform came along. Artemis sighed; she remained unsure of whether the work had been worth it. Nobody seemed to care of the pending concerns and costs that came from exercising the freedom of speeches in the format of poems--left to scramble in the dark while avoiding a looming sense of defeat.

Artemis had grown addicted to watching the swimming thumbs of the Colosseum--the stage set to be rocked, dawning golden bangles and leather cloth. The sheer rage she felt while clapping small hands overhead; pleading for the crowd to care for only a song. She had felt cold waters climbing upon worn down shoes and began to climb nearby obstacles to gain the favor of those loving battle theatrics. The periodic downvote of her heroic tales had brought out a plague of death--conflict causing floodgates to burst open. Artemis silenced from building debate of what commitment and dedication to serve the public meant--accidentally standing adjacent to a woman named Lori while surviving a match in a closed space. Artemis was uncomfortable by the inappropriate nature of elevating a population proud of the lack-of-education by herself--Lori had painted herself to be a deity among mortals; fawning at the handsomeness of the true savior until some other guy came along. It was easier to take a knee and to wait, as the furious waters were released and settled; Artemis stood up--laughing that a man named Nate had appeared rock-side on a small canoe claiming "extra, extra...read all about it". She paid the man a few coins; only to see a close-up of the woman standing nearby....but the dire situation in ink; didn’t match the goofy lovesick smile upon a woman sickened by jealousy and unchecked silliness.

Artemis wondered why the woman chose to remain off the mainlands; forgetting the pale colonizers took hobby in desecrating ancient lands and complaining about less-than-friendly looking locals--chained to a rock to serve and survive...nothing more, nothing less. Artemis had climbed up and away from the violence-drenched gladiators fighting amongst themselves for sport....forgetting that fighting wasn’t the goal: surviving the second act where a dam of emotions was scheduled to be lifted--the unveiling of truth had positioned her to move onwards and upwards...skillfully avoiding defeat.

She awoke in a room; yelling in disgust--beyond the overarching fact that a single hand lay confidently on a mother suffering from disconsolate seasons; weeping over gainsay sorrows. Artemis inverted in a moment of pulling away faster than the speed of light. Rawer tissue burned in disgust of a siloed scenario--Artemis fell into a state of panic; observing Ice Colbs with a towel over his head--relegated to be everything to a narcissist mother...until the ornery arrogance fell from beyond the grasps of a grandmother and sister; mayhem traveled faster than a handful of professionals--providing damage control and accusing concerns to be speculative at best: frivolous at worst. Pain didn’t usually have an emotion; but alas--a game filled with rooms of strange people came with odd rules to match: the confuted worries in caring for the children of a village had been forged by a generation of overbearing elders. Artemis had felt the air breeze over a distraught wrist; she couldn’t get prized hands away from such evil fast enough--she bummed out the general public with unsolicited opinions; invalidated...until they weren’t. The prizes of being right: the exiting of a room where lies manifested into their own universes and reasoning came to be canonized as useless, unworthy of life...deemed to be destroyed at all costs. Artemis remained weary of such religious extremism--often sighing and just saying less in silent defeat.

The strange fifth wall had forced Artemis to excuse herself from their critiques--she took an emotional vacation from all the creepiness of the world by seeking out Orion and his charming smile. Occasionally dressing up as though he were waiting for a date night to begin; only to strop a dull arrow tip and gather better information on the enemy. She had forgotten--the book had left off their story of epic romance, at the worst time in each of their lives: where Artemis contemplated Orion’s battle with courage, and developed an opinion on his aspirations of self-preservation as a person. She had an uncomfortable conversation about a female best friend bursting past social norms, and his efforts staking the poles of boundaries between a perpetually single again ex-whatever...Artemis was left saying all she needed to say--packing up their love story and walking out a door in defeat.

Artemis’s overzealous commitment to not-being-murdered--kept Orion in the dark; pretending to need a light whenever his relationships got tough and crawling to a female best friend holding a large white candle--the perplexed old lover...incapable of admitting wrongdoing on either ends. The man claimed to be facing the hardest time of his life with the passing of his mother; borrowing money from a female best friend, and leaving Artemis to be judged for not knowing his financial struggles in the slightest. The passive aggressive friend turned herself into a purse; prideful in the duties of a long-con...eyes twinkling as she found out Artemis had two older siblings and seemed agitated by being left out of conversations. Artemis felt unsafe; knowing such ugly personalities wasted decades--corroding relationships with salted words and tears, if it meant attaining the object of their desire in moments of boredom. Orion just happened to allow such casting of a role to fall upon his shoulders...at the same moment when a violent ex-boyfriend approached Artemis, and whispered his erotic wishes to take her life...to ask if the woman he had once beat to the brink of unconsciousness were "still mad"; believing she would take the bait and walk willingly into the arms of an abusive partner...to lower her standard once more in defeat.

Artemis remained scared to explain the depth of his violent delights to Orion; he remained distracted, intertwined in the popularity trap of a female best friend--easily-manipulated and ready to quit caring...if it meant he would have less conflict in his life. The things they didn’t have time to cover--were abstract to the priority of creating romantic memories filled with calm hugs and a quiet aura of deja vu. Artemis had never felt enough for him either way--the slackening of his hand reminded Artemis that men often found themselves pursuing other women while she clung to a doomed partnership like a fool. There had been a large number of red flags gating Orion in and away from her; his chosen wife dropping a graceful hand in a single moment--laughing at the fact that she was victorious in avoiding a lifetime of alimony...unwilling to be the key man to a policy of reassurance, and snarling with an unimpressed grin--walking away had meant neither would have to admit mistake or defeat.

The distracted animosity she felt from the absence of Orion had been that of an elderly couple--he seemed to only miss her hand in spare moments of attempting to manage life’s chaos. Artemis had forgotten to crack her neck from side-to-side before she released the grasp upon her bows choke: feeling the displaced air whip past bladed knuckles--grazing a single thought with self-doubt. It was instinctual for Artemis to know a missed shot instantaneously, the trajectory of a brown ball or bow: unable to be stabilized mid-air--having landed on the wording needed when dealing with unwanted company in home forever cursed to walk in on a folie a deux, complete with an Inglorious accents and a black-rimmed toque. Nothing good came from stepping in the throes of a stranger filling the air with garrulous opinions and stumbling by in random moments of defeat.

Artemis had no intention of letting it all go, to forget what was built on the foundation of nothing--let alone to step aside and die on hill alone like a god damn spinster. Artemis stood tall; taking up the duty to protect the Honmoon at all costs--knowing the strengths of her visuals, wondering what it’d take for Orion to wake-up. To hear his own off-pitch song, and balling lies--threaded to protect a courier of carelessness--to be bitch-slapped by the decades of manipulation tied-off to one acquaintance; hacking diligently away at his freedoms bit-by-bit...cutting down relationship-after-relationship...forcing her way into the lives of other girlfriends and turning into a leech in moments where Orion needed an ally to perpetuate his love of drama without question--eventually, tearing down himself in the process and wandering back and forth on a trail of bachelorhood in defeat.

Artemis had forgotten the utilization of the search-and-replace features; opting for manual options to double-check the scripting of such a sad story--of a loner placing up poles of discipline and decency: only for his longtime friend to cut them down in the dead of night. Artemis had splattered blood and tea upon the walls--allowing leaves to be read and up for interpretation: knowing the ruthless readers would feast and feed their demands in playing editorial chief to her life...unless it were written in elementary terms and carried by a simulation holding a handful of props and actions. They could switch the tags and title of many-and-most characters: minus a woman holding a candle stick and the name Rottweiler, and Artemis’s nickname carried from childhood--painted as troublesome in a den of unwell citizens. The core programming of stubborn personalities had locked the deserving in place; to be the arbiter of Justice...to be such an unwell person(s) compelled by emotion; absorbed in the self-appointed commitment--held dutiful to action in a moment of defeat.

The swirling crowds had upvoted the distasteful and obscene in their glory--Artemis remained confused; holding a trident and barely able to stand when a bell of reason rang on a random autumn day. The quest to troll a Commander-in-Chief with a digital footprint had many dimensions--collapsing over one another: all in an order to disperse the air of disillusion in a slow and steady manner. Artemis towered over kneeling posture; eyes aglow with the heckling question cast into a moment of silence..."what happened to the children?". She had found the strength to care about others in the darkest of times; twirling a trident and casting it into a pattern of rotation as she stood up to observe a battlefield painted with the blood of the innocent...Artemis weeping on behalf of the things to come; the pain of a single breath weighing heavily upon her chest--no part of her story could explain the scary nature of people hiding behind grins and a threatening aura of perpetual silliness.

The completion of her violent outburst; the hand-drawn box of suffering seemed so irrelevant to the offering of experiences and travels--there was a strange sense of home in both her real life; and burrowed deep in the product-of-events being placed into motion. Artemis took one step at a time; catering to a curved spine and balancing a life in a temple of God. She took immense pride in a need to seek answers, to take careful measures in de-compartmentalizing the scarring proof of a lost soul--struggling to gain gentle footing in an uncaring world. Artemis, often took humor in battles hailed on previous days--stumbling into rooms where the conversation had gone full-circle. The swishing and swirls of scenery kept Artemis in a state of battling an ocean sickness--sensitive to lights and motion since day five. It had left room for sloppy mistakes--guided by emotions, and less by logic. Artemis approached a bridge of despair; walking up on a monster nicknamed chowder as he wept in defeat.

The faceless Landon had taken a gamble with borrowing faces; accidentally triggering a response of a right hook from Artemis when landing on the face of a moron-his body chowderous and shapeless. Timing between swinging first and apologizing second had gotten Artemis into trouble as a youth; she used the opportunity of hiding behind the title of an angry woman of color distracted the bigot--unaware that a wobbling arrow remained unprepared. Artemis falling to her knees in defeat.

Life’s luck had run out: Artemis often left to look ahead at the future worth fighting for. Two hands held behind a tired back had captured her ethos in a single moment; with Artemis raising a single brow in confusion; laughing at her choice in authorizing the slitting of a throat. Someone had to pay the price for having taken an eye off the target of public competition; monstrous personality disorders ran everywhere, and Artemis had ran out of ways to state that some monsters are just monsters....pouring time in between pages by forcing evil into a music-filled story, complete with dance numbers and concerts--shaving off minutes, pirating attention for fun and inconvenience sake; failure was less scary when seriousness wrapped itself in outbursts of song and dance to offset eventual defeat.

She had found it ironic: that the Landon guarding the depraved and curious--resisted the spells of song and dance. Artemis was pleasantly surprised when the Landon that guarded the Mediums were indifferent to her bloodthirsty art painted orange--the guard of censorship had allowed her words to pass with a silent nod. Forgetting one-sided dance battles that slipped away with a final note and rolling credits. Artemis had nothing to hide: forever risking it all against the chances of becoming paralyzed in a beached whale pose--pressing past mortal sickness and the sands of time; unready to let go of tactical practice fields in defeat.

Artemis had wrote an entire book: waiting on a red-drenched rock of self-reflection while she finalized the process of being polished into a bound manuscript. It were completed--a story with a beginning-middle-and end; the resolve of a wall-less set; containing her numerous endeavors, gore-riddled and perverse...needle-pointed in honesty, left near a giant egg standing the pillars of immorality; cemented in the subject matters and stitched together by visual data, archived to counteract life’s expectations. Life became easier; deflecting undo blame with a small compact mirror, singing songs of hopeful fulfillment...refusing to fall into the waters of shame, hydrophobic to the actions of others, as they did sketchy shit in rare hopes she’d be complicate in looking away just once--to give up morals paid to partake in morbid tales and searches. Artemis had took it personal to know children had gone missing; and refused to stop sharing unpleasant stories...to remain curious and cautious with every waking minute, as opposed to those that dropped fliers filled with search information and the contact information to reach a man name Rey--turning the world over with his version of professional defeat.

Artemis was peeved that it were some random footnote story: that had gotten her executed from behind--barred from sharing story and song, at the hand of her own ego; a failed Idol--consumed by a flameless-Hell. Yet here she lay, defeated by one’s own silver and gold weapons: bored and disgruntled that she had been taken down by a random walking by--penalizing her with sacred method of halal slaughter under the merits of following orders. Such participating awards were afforded to the more diverse public--tippy-toeing around invasions and legal raids meant to kidnap anyone deemed eligible for a march of death. Passing by citizens had began to drag a corpse left along the street--needing to remove any missteps before the legal system kicked into high-gear...Artemis dropped her head; listening to the enemy as they jeered about statistics while her small body remained dead-weighted with the efforts of visualization: floored in defeat.

Artemis were unaware if she had any true friends---let alone which would come be her side, as she bleed profusely upon a public street along the Bay; the plucking of a heart string could only grow so loud with its efforts. Ruby-shaded blood finally gave up on spurting with a tired pulse--gently trickling from a slender neckline--seeped into a stone called Earth, and allowing Artemis to find relief in the fantasy of death once more. There was an excruciating pain for those that missed waves of adrenaline in a way that almost satisfied a bottomless libido. The sensation of giving up and breaking Free--befell from the fact that very few people had told Artemis no in her life, without explaining themselves beforehand. The blindsiding of an enemy proved to be the most efficient and unclean way of declaring war and eroding a swift plan of inevitable defeat.

Artemis had been clueless when the tall stranger walked by and attempted to rip her hair out with no second-guess as to any probable objections--she was thrown back into faltering steps; a delicate neck facing the sun. The faceless giant held her at his mercy and sliced a small trachea wide-open with one swift motion. Looking ahead--avoiding her pleas to spare what little life she had to offer; there was nothing to offer someone with blood lust. She wondered how many fronts of fair battle had been tampered with--provided financial compensation for silencing citizens one at a time--claiming to have mediated a sociopath from a story; skirting accusations of defamation with unbottled luck-unadulterated with ill-intent. Artemis had seen him rise from the stature of a regular guy; discouraging any criticism of a paper castle in a world filled with sycophants--eventually falling ill himself as he defended losers, and blindly compliant moderators. The man began to self-destruct with every-other debate; breaking down by the minute--unable to self-correct the opinions of citizens; all those daring to question the method and strategy of a Mechanical Boars and Titans. Her inability to die without a fight had gifted Artemis with a gameplay meant to hail the wife of Jesus--holding a single black book with a stretched out arm; snarling through blood soaked teeth, asking if the monster knew of a man named Jeffery--finding absolution in the truth, even if it meant her own defeat.

Artemis had mentioned a cursed Golden Calf--a prophet named Chad--grieving the loss of his wife. It all had been senseless; fragments of dreams falling into shelled nightmares; sprinting down pristine hallways as she yelled at a holy cow at took random twists and turns to hide. The Ladon had forgot the initial mission; to garner the words of a single man; a man forever reliant in apology--gagged by self-grandeur. Artemis had found the man smiling over a newly-disturbed line of upturned foliage...a moment of desperation had fell heavily over her shoulders--resulting in a tired leader crashing to her knees as the monster took both opportunities to tie up loose-ends; slashing away and rushing through a book of names. The book forever doomed to remain empty without Artemis alive. She leaned into the more jarring parts of being immortal; talking shit while stitching up a massive wound upon her neck--occasionally tucking a needle in too deep and fighting seizures in shock. The faceless stranger had cast doubt on her skills; he had exposed her bare throat to a blade of ruling judgement--with absolutely no knowledge or interests of her handicap or trials. Such frustration in the irrational things Artemis dealt with--tisking in annoyance and shaking it off day-by-day: relishing the way luck would come and go, comprising to be a very heavy in the numerous humbling lessons gifted on the topic of personal defeat.

Artemis had burnt so many bridges in the past; there was a small sense of relief that she hadn’t burned this particular one--while standing in its center lane--a sword drawn and her footwork unstable. She needn’t be sorry for the poem wrote on a whim, as it had been the evidence of a successful assimilation: the wheels of Genocide had accidentally given her the means to exercise a first amendment. She had let emotions run wild--true anguish bled from overworked fingertips, as Artemis rode out a longstanding wave of depression, and found that she had been crowned as one of the Wild Ones. Destined to remain tied to the past; sut-up for failure..repaying in-full for sins of caring about the wrong people...fated to expire at the hand of someone in a forgotten inner circle: casting senseless stories and repeatedly walking blindly past a nameless person holding a pleasant smile--hiding behind interlocked fingers that gripped an invisible candle stick. Artemis felt a small shredding of her soul--the emotions trapped in purgatory wandering past a darkening park of touching plane trees, as the world questioned the forty-eight hours before Artemis’s eventual defeat.

Artemis crash landed back upon a golden bridge: unsure why memories of a half-sibling kept creeping into dreams and dispelling into nightmares. To be trapped in a hedging-maze wandering through a foggy floored obstacle course; guided by a persons efforts and visions of good and ill intent. She stood upright; dusting off crusty linens and the strange sensation of knowing what came next, as she wished the prude stranger goodbye--offering a book filled with names for a chance of freedom...knowing the beast would cower to militaristic loyalty, professionals, and anyone willing to hear the story of an orphan struggling to remain in the confines of a social contract--an episodic sickness brought forth by Western culture. There was nothing to conjure a particle of reasoning from--no speck of sense to make a discovery off of: unpaid assassins maneuvering to proceed with missions and objectives under anonymous circumstances rarely had a reason for why. Her words had been riddled with poison and vitriol intentions--the keen sense had become a prized Tradition awarded to a scholar afraid of people. Artemis had been taught in the schools of the dead-eyed savages--stay ready...to be emotionally prepared for any-and-all truths of mankind. Such historical irony--meant the reader had finally seen her; handing off a weapon mid stride--to defend patterns and all--somehow choosing to spare her soul at the last possible second from being obviated in defeat.

Artemis had been slaughtered; for having assimilated too well and holding hawk-eyed vision of the world. Impartiality had only minimal consequences up until now...until it didn’t. She had commissioned a minor offense--verbally scalped the Boar with a few swipes, and saying nothing as he clasped dramatically at a single ear. She had been hunted and muted for describing a world leaders aging genitals; for allowing things to unfold without grace-- hyping the world leader to swallow deeper as he remained busy performing fellatio upon a bald man, resembling an uncircumcised appendage and sitting atop a petite beast. The standard quid pro quo, for anyone that wore a red hat and lay in bed with evil--would mean a bout in the bedroom; tossing and turning as a dictator manhandled whatever body was sacrificed into lustful chambers in silent defeat.

Artemis had only been targeting the pair--after word had reached her ear that the Mechanical Boar had held up financial-aid to a war-riddled territory: for confidential information that didn’t seem to exist, and found himself cuck-holded by a man rambling on about showers of pee in a threatening accent. Artemis disliked the turtle-faced man, particularly for his contributions in skills: hunting pregnant women and labeling them with the word SQUAW upon their forehead in menstrual blood. He had wanted to control every part of the female citizens, and loved the taste of blood. The derogatory word translated loosely into the harsh language of the dead-eyed savages as the "C-WORD". Artemis had only gone to observe this ritual, as she had doubted the suctioning strengths of a Mechanical Boar--providing free oral favors in-trade for passing legislation or unaudited boostings. Assuming the fair trade between two corrupt men were a fabrication that was worth looking into--it seemed wise to implement physical gestures to announce such guilt with treasonous actions. Artemis fell temporarily ill, as she watched the sexually depraved spectacle--guy-on-guy stuff wasn’t really her cup of tea. A stiff twitch fell past an awkward smile: casting an annoyed glare in the direction of anyone and everyone--the show was halted but the gagging sounds grew louder in the dark. Artemis was fated to suffer a slow death...that was neither filled with pain-or-peace. Choosing to work on illustrations to welcome any new followers, and entice future homies to join the delicately placed words meant build an audience and nothing else. Artemis avoided editing the raps and flows that floated through her whimsical thoughts at some pretty extreme measures--finding joy in travels survived and archived to recall the dangers posed with unregulated silliness.

Next Chapter: *[ XXXII ] Artemis and Polyphemus*