"Where did Hope go?!”....the world began to shake--hostage to the dotard ramblings of a frantic Boar. Panic began to bespell an already less than intelligent civilization. Race motivated hatred began to bubble beneath his thin skin, laying tracks with his anxiety--his desires for beautiful women bursting to the surface. The beast had managed to become reanimated, by his endless lust for the young republican. He began to crawl and squeal upon the marble floor--Artemis had been summoned back to the dome of Hades once more. The reigns of accountability kept the old man close to Artemis--leaving the chained beast to choke himself as he demanded wiggle room to lust after an entitled childish woman--dick fully erect by the mere passing-by of Hopey; despite having a wife at home. He wasn’t wrong about the assumptions of leadership and sparkle brought into the world by those ready to stand in stuffy offices and behind crusty old men. Hopey could care less that the man the beastly man was enthralled with her presence, as she was content just being in a house painted white; playing Government and attempting to cultivate respect by boasting of her youthful position in rooms that traditionally barred those called Millennials.

Artemis led him down a path of success, watching as he locked himself to pole that held a sign with the word "Hopey", as he wrapped himself tightly around a pedophile pole deep within Hades. Hopey...was nowhere in sight, and Artemis had began to heckle her "where ya at bitch?!" The hopelessness of seeking a woman in blatant hiding, had caused a rift in the time-space continuum. Artemis hadn’t the time for the wild Boar and his perverse ways today, and she hadn’t the heart to tell the aging man--that his muse had abandoned him with ease; causing him great distress and triggering a spell of dementia.

Artemis took pity on the beast--watching in silence and nurturing her own worry of the continuing absence of Orion. The punishment of caring too much for those undeserving--falling heavily upon her thoughts. Where was he? What had she done that was so awful to push him away forever? The exhaustion of missing one’s husband, and his nonsense had drove Artemis to fall-back upon her old ways; drunk in self-pity. Artemis held her head high in sobriety, and helped herself to a boyfriend or two--just to spite Orion. Life moved on without him. Artemis hadn’t the patience to explain her actions to her readers, and she definitely didn’t have the patience to explain the sensible need to fill the growing void left by Orions wake. She often sighed in boredom; missing the embrace of a tall Indigenous Warrior that epitomized the many things that separated his Gen Z characteristics, from her own flaws. The age of judgement kept them worlds apart; her vindicated worries being cast in the compartmentalization of the cursed group held in high-expectations and given nothing to build off of called themselves the future, the relentless, the contrived title; boxing people of her age in a secular gaggle of aimless, shameless “millennials”.

Artemis didn’t need the karma thrown at her feet, but promised her few devoted readers--a sneak preview of the book she intended on publishing. Her promise to uphold the truth, and stand in an authentic light; was greater than the trolls that now attempted to down-vote all the poems involving an ambiguous character named the Mechanical Boar. Artemis said nothing during the siege; telling herself "It must be lonely and sorrowful: being so angry all the time". Artemis left behind the unnerving delight that echoed in her strange laughter, to deter the notion of discouragement. Shielding herself with books and a passion to defend children stolen away from the world too soon. She was in good company at last--free to laugh in weary boredom to the stories of unsolved crimes committed against children. She wondered what drove those who had sought her out, or followed her twisted and dark odyssey. Artemis was forever grateful to the few, proud and individual thinkers that pow-wow’d around her as they rallied behind her. It gave her urgency to continue her writing, as they reddit, or watch as Artemis defended victims long-gone. She began walking between two worlds; matching haste for each passion project at strange hours. She began to lean to the right; holding reigns of a uncontrollable beast--blinded by his greed, eyes darkened by static as she fluttered through the scrambled memory of the Mechanical Boar. Artemis witnessed his wrath and became ill watching scenes of an army of traitors stomping sacred grounds and murdering a few citizens sworn to protect a prized Capital representing a free-and-fair Democracy. His endless sins had caught her attention, as his simple mind was easily hackable and inception-ed with a temporary spell of dementia.

Artemis tightened her ponytail atop her head, needing to make sense of the madness spread by the steps of a an aging Mechanical Boar. She began sprinting through cursed hallways--those unending and built up by illusions; filled with stories of diverse situations. This random lady named Hopey had done fucked up by accepting a bouquet of nepotism. Artemis reset the tone, popping out of nowhere into a scene and yelling--"dis. bitch." in a song form; anytime Hopey’s unhelpful face appeared behind the tyrant Boar; solidifying the curses of un-seriousness that seemed to be associated and ingrained in a majority of millennials.

Instead of dwelling on the past, Artemis pressed forward--set out to determine the outcome from a dimension built upon a moment of helplessness. The pivotal tipping-point of a caged beast, pummeling a stray child to death had brought down a veil of ignorance in an instant. Artemis painted the world in disarray; mirroring an environment of entitled arrogance tucked beneath a billed tuke. Dancing to an anthem of niche preferences-- cast into the universe: manifesting the desire for a financially literate man, holding a funded trust, six-five, blue eyes. Her life as single woman was filled with simple joy, untranslatable selfishness, to wording of the many, many, many married, and or, parenting taxpayers--that had been abandoned with a factual title of surviving a cyber-attack unimaginable. They had been the last to leave an age of stone: left struggling to describe the concept of loyalties, commitment, and brevity to anyone younger than her age group of millennials.

"You had to ask his parents if the homie was home, or free to talk-we also had to pick between being on the world-wide-net, or being able to communicate with the outside world." Respect and accountability were instilled through experience, practice, and the conflicted emotions that came from being stood-up, or left being told no by someones parents. Inconvenience was addressed nose first, followed by moments to rebut, apologize, or jump ship at the risk of harsh criticism. Artemis had grown-up in a world before two-trillion in government monies had disappeared into thin air, the tragic proceedings of misdirect had separated herself from an overstimulated generation-cursed to be a universe apart; forever distant to those bored--too lazy to care about the lingering trauma of the resilient but weary millennials.

The age of Silicon bestowed an already hopeless world--with a wall of waves, built upon lethargic indifference, with youth armed with Hopeys pointed words; spell-bound to swaying commitment--talon’d with gleaning white lies. The enclave of the judicious crowd would curse Hopey in every dimension. The weeping woman would be tethered to a Siren lingering in the Bay--a lean wide-eyed woman; suffering from Real Time Curses. Two lucky women; armed with every opportunity to falling short from each target with an impeccable consistency. The reality being; A world where Tylee’s Mother proved here motherly love, whiled over the presence of Chad; indebted to his choices in remuneration and achieving a glorified destiny, a verdict written in real time. Forever slumped over in his victory in happily wedded second marriage--seditious in his depravity; imprisoned in a romantic game.

Artemis and Hopey were close in age; divided by the option of doing the right thing at the cost of comfort. Artemis had learned patience from a childhood friend named Mr. Joseph; a man that ate politics for breakfast--holding kind patience and a rudimentary approach to those like Artemis; raised in a planted box; double and wide. Artemis and Mr. Joseph had chosen to jettison past bolled cotton enthusiasts, accepting a public service to defend the citizens from a failing education system. If Mr. Joseph wasn’t already up in a house painted white...bossing it up and doing all the things at six in the morning on a Sunday--than, she had abso-fruitly no business being up in such prominent buildings without proper rhyme-or-reason. The public office was meant for the best-of-the-best, not for individuals to platform their consulting businesses as a side-hustle to their civil service. Artemis held the understanding that Democracy was fragile, beautiful to hold, and worth defending with one’s life. It bothered her--that random women like Hopey distracted others; on her quest for glory and validation. The critical choices made by Hopey herself; left her tied to a Mechanical Boar--forever linked by their greedy vision, clumsy missteps, and wrongful choices in treating Democracy like a replaceable child’s game.

Hopey had fulfilled a destiny of greatness, cast by the hand of luck--Wasting tax-payer funds, charming inspiration into a Mechanical Boar. Artemis gathered weapons of silver and gold once more, humming a strangely familiar song. Artemis had come into this world, born to participate in a hunt--to play a game of black and white. Her life was interesting enough that her lies ran dry. A booming voice had been given to her by a tall man with wild hair; roaming along a Golden bay-a wandering politician named Bernie, pleading with his wife to pick out a place to eat. She laughed at the memory of the elderly yelling candidate, as he had nothing much to say in her presence. There she stood: talking about her feelings to an elderly stranger, silent and kind as he waited for Artemis to finish thanking him on behalf of all millennials.

He had blindly believed Artemis, without her having to mention a stolen childhood, a coveted internship beneath a Blue Crest of Hope. She knew he cared, because she’d seen him lecturing those in power--to forgive the student loans that pulled Artemis below the undertow of waves each year. The punishment of being an artist meant “freedom” was imprisoning; fleeting, and aimless. The pages of her death-riddled note were desperate, weighed down by her need to seek a better life. Unlike some women: Artemis valued moral integrity and felt responsibility to set precedence for a familial legacy. Hopey--on the other hand: was famed for her ironing skills, and inability to answer one hundred and fifty-six questions without tears. Artemis had wished to deliver the last blow to Hopey’s credibility by asking the tall woman from beyond the ink’d poems: “what-the-actual fuck, woman?” Such women like Hopey--were the epitome of true annoyance, to all those born with the marginalized title: millennials.

Artemis didn’t have the time for this shit. She bent over the Boar once more: painting sloppily upon his hopelessly wrinkled and ill-fitting coat. Artemis giggled to herself-as she wrote the words of his latest sinful "slip-up" in silver paint: reconnaissance drone. It appeared--that the “Commander in Chief” was finally at a loss for words, unaware that a UAV literally meant…unmanned aerial vehicle. She hadn’t forgotten that he had murdered innocent citizens and bartered with a corrupt prince. Artemis smiled broadly, observing the staged chaos that began to drape over modern Rome: she had successfully created a world where two versions of her life could coexist at once. Stuck in reality, but able to move through the past and beyond in span of a click. Artemis had used an enchanted book to blend the worlds harsh edges--to accomplish well-rounded, overly thought-out concepts as a meaningful game.

The world was collapsing, crumbling under the thumb of Hopey and her inaction. Artemis had seen the vestal flame trickling violently before her--she had taken the reigns of madness, and vowed to locate, tame, and tether a beast to an unforgettable timeline. Life was more fun, when daydreaming a scene of dragging Mechanical Boar by his stupid red ribbon. A wise Presidential candidate had taught her to be bold without the bold. An odd quote she had slept on quiet frequently. These were the barely-helpful words cast by a man who wore his sparkling wings without piousness or doubt. He had taken his own advice, and manhandled a system-unmovable and soul-breaking in its entirety. To be bold, and withstanding from bulling was a skill that rearranged the entire industry of transportation, and raised the hypothetical bar of expectation for all millennials.

Such heavy artillery in intellectual weapons were necessary to fix the woeful state of the Republic: to salvage the resources drying up with each taxed moment. The Mechanical Boar had begun paving a way--to enforce a police state, and harass any citizen that disagreed with him. He sold their rights to the highest bidders from beneath their feet; tossing away freedoms to foreign entities, or shadowy boards without hesitation. He had blocked citizens that engaged him in conversation and sold their souls for false friendships. The sheer raucous treading along the soils of the warpath of the Mechanical Boar; being the most taxing position to anyone and everyone--meant Artemis was unable to stand on the edges of rationality; inextricably tied to a man born guilty thirty-times over...soberly playing life’s fairly predictable game.

No amount of loyalist; could extrapolate a favorable witness statement as Hopey defended inaction--held in defense of a tyrant unleashed at her own hand. The coaxing of affiliation of a crazed Mechanical Boar; corrupting an entire color; bleeding the citizens dry of their rights; posing international points of vulnerability by thanking a Cyclops; busy poisoning an outdated and undervalued voting system. Again. Existing habits forever hindering the evolution of tax-ed expectations from the overworked commonwealth. The evidence provided by a handful of documents: stashed away in an overvalued bedroom, hoarded as standard loot for a childish man--dawning the crown of a Mechanical Boar.

Artemis hated saying goodbye to elders, but understood that death was natural, cyclical to the other parts of organic living. A horned laughter-- granting her worthy to led the Mechanical Boar to the gates of Hades, Fulfilling a predestined fate as an Oni. A fear of heights kept Artemis free from entering the belly of Hell itself; stranded stage-side in little red hats--spinning, stymied in a downward spiral that collapsed upon itself for all of infinity. The whole point of death was to bring fear to the weak; to provide chemically-driven solutions to combat the rapturous evils that controlled the world. To be loved; meant a moment blanked by sheer ambition--to give light to a darkened scene; dealt the efforts of being abandoned upon a yard for sale; marked down as an expendable, replaceable, hackable and derisively exhausting game.

Artemis had survived on borrowed time for one-too-many years, her voice occasionally collapsed beneath a windpipe inhaling the moments of tonic hopelessness--hostage to a spell of drowning on land; flailing with clonic desperation. The screed of humanity could be found in the pages of a physically ill citizen; attempting to hide in a crowd of able-bodied citizens. A trail of confusion followed her upon a moment where Artemis was seen smiling; rolling up on reality bitch-slapping the doubtful--the notion of mortality setting in by a scenery set in blinded scenario of Mans-Tru production. Her life of kneeling over in humility was uncomprehending to the witnessing characters in life’s unfair, unwinnable game.

A veil of sadness weighed down Artemis’s thoughts--stoned at the feet, stagnate in grief to a moment of suffering. To be standing ankle deep in the shores of death--meant a life of insanity; a false belief that one may orchestrate the chaotic waves, the violent collapse of lies; tittle-tattles, fabrications of delusion-ed reasoning to fit a narrative, to give reason for love being the almighty conqueror in the wake of all Odysseys. Her love for one man--blinded her judgement since day one; leaving proof with the soft gesture of pointing at the same man twice--as though marrying him twice would solve a problem--unsolvable by way of personality disorder, left unchecked; unbalanced to a woman chained to the will of gravity. Artemis and Hopey were interchangeable in a cursed room; granted entry in exclusivity bound by obsequiousness to self-center men. The Fate of Time had arose in an age of darkness; directed by Artemis pointing hopelessly at a husband blinded by doubling spite, and a woman named "Hopey"; consistent in the gesture of pointing at Rob--busy, porting a reign of violence against his ex spouses, and then someone else’s husband. Gantry morals held both Artemis and "Hopey"; abandon in the glory of other people’s actions, deflecting to the actions of a man--keeping another in the dark out of convenience. To hold anchor in a ship heading directly into a storm of bullshit--Artemis; forever and consistently blind-sided by facts happening around her, and "Hopey" given a strong dose of reality; in front of a Jury--unfamiliar with her legacy of success. Artemis was a nobody from birth; given the title of a winning horse, longing to make more out a pathetic upbringing and a losing hand in an already-rigged game.

A cursed stroll through Concordia was the least of Artemis’s worries; derisive witness testimony had left the world in shambles. Colby had brought the mightiest of men to their knees; standing humbled in a room of strangers--weeping over a loss so great, so sincere; that a parade of supporting citizens came to his aide. They lived in an awful world, where a scene of grown adults weeping, falling over--ill, witness to a less beautiful world. Touched by the hand of death; vision narrowed to claw away at the concept of all that Chad had done to the world. Artemis became sick herself; chained to the image of Tylee being treated as detritus--thrown into a fire, bag by bag. To be the bleeding heart: bound and suffocated by the hands of fate. Their shared trauma was painted in a portrait drafted to illustrate true depths of evil chaos; A woman devouring the limbs of her own children, would easily suffice. A simplistic moment of a mother hungered with ill-intended actions; chained to a loser prophet. Instead, Artemis honored those surviving a thankless duty--with a silent image of a lone citizen, surrendering to an exhausted exit into an endless hallway. A changed individual battling through fits of hyperventilation, weeping openly in the wake of Chads impetuses. Colby had shook the world with his tragic tale; standing forever alone in an ocean of trauma--attempting to grapple with the reality of having one’s whole house washed away. The unanswered silences--Chad’s ubiquitous decree of omerta, held the world hostage, screaming in rage "where are the Children!?"--accosting two promiscuous weirdos, demanding honesty from two citizens fleeing from levels of accountability in their own terror-filled game.

Artemis had been reborn into a timeline of hopelessness--returned to a world to aspirate the bloodline of mortality; judging pulse and rhythm as a blind witness. A spell cast to Hopey with a single damning question "What did Pecker tell you?!"; lingered by the silent stir of a woman unfamiliar with the ideas of discomfort and consequences. To be battle-ready; meant a life where words matched intent, concern, and mirrored the proper outcome given to those that held sight on to the greater good. Life was ruthless, no doubt-- to the cowards that decided to forego honorable commitment in the face of Democracy’s ever-changing game.

Life seemed silly: displayed by a morning scene of Artemis, TIED UP to a beginning level--standing wearily in attendance of her beloved Orion; crowned with a bucket as a hat. An infantile style that Roro also rocked, and was pretty indicative of the current generation: wearing outdoor adventure-wear, without plans of performing scientific surveillance or fishing activities. The laid-back fashion statement, was nothing more than a slight indicator separating the chill GenZ’rs from the hype’d swag dawned by office-ready millennials.

Artemis’s mind became darkened by life’s path; expressed by a gesture where she had finally given up on reaching for Orion’s indifferent hand. Eagerly turning away, waiting for the hissing of a door marked as Hades--to summon her to its frame. Artemis had ran out of shallow wishes, realizing a cursed apple could only be lifted by the veil of the people--imprisoning her with stolen portraits and a sentence of paranoia, agoraphobia, for the sake of boredom. The tsunami of death had stripped the citizens of common sense, shredding professionalism, and breaking down boundaries of normalcy--resulting in "casual stalking", in a scene set up to better display the entitlement of those treating such invasions as a child’s game.

Orion openly hated her on a random Wednesday. She had loved his absence in a way that justified the brokenness he had often boasted of, and she’d just shrug with indifference, as though they were two lovers cursed with happening at the wrong time. Artemis had opted in--writing of their timeless love, to prove that she had indeed been crazy for admitting such a thankless passion. Such hopeless and analytical takes on romance was reserved for all the suckers that were forced to label themselves as pre-interweb citizens; those committed to structure, patience, and a kind-listening ear given to a majority of millennials.

Her unwavering ability to read men saved countless hours of arguments--a sanity guiding her from room filled with mistreatment. The moment of verdict found in a single moment of clarity; gifted with the flick of an eyebrow or a glare cast in the direction of a looming threat. Artemis had learned form Rindy: the power of a few mighty words "We’re done here." or the bounding spell sighting the wrongs bleeding over scenarios too complex for the compensation--the moments of deep nope-ery when saying, "I think I’ve seen enough." and measuring the damage given to underpaying entities. Artemis held a certain decorum; saying less and walking with purpose, head held high--success was given to those knowing and noticing when others take little responsibility over their actions. She acted accordingly to the wages given as scraps by those with salary and and occupational security. To be thrown into professional trenches without training, or a modicum of respect--could derail a loyal enthusiasm, built upon the desperation of a woman longing to build a career and academic legacy in life’s unhackable game.

A seed of doubt, held the weight of a thousand worlds. Artemis had left one relationship for another, one job for another: unwilling to settle for less than what she deserved. The world watched in anticipation, as her ex’s began to align themselves at her fleeting door--if only to “check on her”. She’d laugh--gently tucking a door closed with relief to each of her mistakes; finally invited Gilgamesh into her home to assist her in escaping the confines guarded by Dianne. He’d seen a bit of her pathetic existence, the convoluted truth: a life where a younger sibling was trapped by rules and regulations that restricted the right to open or close a door. To be untrustworthy of privacy: was a chilling testimony gifted to a man struggling to comprehend how a young woman could exist with an equivocal stranger casting judgement, and a crippling amount of expectations that could seal away the general depiction of a woman fleeing captivity behind a simple story, about a person struggling with substance abuse--needing proper rest and moment to count the stakes offered and bought in a siblings twisted game.

Artemis had met and charmed Beardy Gilgamesh with a few moments of exhaustion; slamming meat over toasted bread, complaining of the tortures provided in being "surrounded by morons". His father saved Artemis an extra smile, and Beardy Gilgamesh had pursued her out of compliance. Orion had been cursed with good looks and charming demeanor like Hopey, where the opposite sex would be riddled to change themselves in their mere presence. The tipping points of such paths laid by fate; could be compared by observing how Beardy Gilgamesh and Orion spoke of Artemis. One man had to wake up early to gain, gains in wielding an orange sphere-holding a work ethic, firmly gripping opportunity through sacrifice and discomfort, whereas Orion would always do less, say less, bored by the notion that he was considered lazy in comparison to the reigning athletes and their trials as desirable, recruited--hand-picked millennials.

Artemis topped off her day avoiding the pages of dreary helplessness. Procrastination tactics deployed with prioritizing errands and the thrashing waves of news unending...self-love and shitty epic poems finally began being purged from deep within her system. Affirmation in compelling words, and edited chapters--spiked micro-levels of serotonin and endorphins straight into her bloodstream. Such celebrations could only be described by a woman awakened by a frightening imagination--privy to the same words, bound to a reality where her actions mattered on the daily. Conflated expectations kept her trapped in moments of confusion; stranded to the bare concept of being unmovable...unwilling to bend over to companies ready to rear an hourly employee if it meant compliance learned through a depraved, underpaid game.

Artemis could be drafted by the outline of a woman screaming along the oceans lace, wielding the surreal image of a roaring woman. Shades of disappointment painted the silly and indescribable love she held for a random fling named Orion: forever at her left hand. Artemis would sway and bounce with cheerfulness, as she acclaimed pride in their stupid love in black and white. His bright colors and taller-than-life presence: always able to catch her eye whenever he suited up for an athletic game.

Artemis had only wished to sleep for her birthday: knowing that she could only sleep safely and peacefully with her estranged partner near. Wishes were suckers--hopes and dreams were for con men. She gave him a tailored blazer marked with a silver sixteen written upon its right pocket. She laid on ice at last. Needing validation that she deserved remedy without guilt as to her privilege, stepping away from standing desks and letting the chips fall as they pleased. Artemis found immense pride in the morphing of professional landscape; sculpted at the hand of doubtful hourly-waged millennials.

Artemis had found a way of telling Orion that it was finally time to bury the hatchet that mocked her...etched in the ceiling of her cell: a strange place she had called an office. Her heart was forever conflicted by how to approach the expectations of Dianne, a woman stuck in moments of jealousy; building a claim over Artemis’s choice in partner. Not by way of caring, but with the sickened intent of sharing. Artemis had finally broke down and told a kind fatherless-man named Beardy Gilgamesh of memories stranded in a thankless holiday; half-way excusing the rotted train of thought of a sibling-- embolden by fictional scenarios, glamorizing the sins of the flesh and deteriorating the youthful minds of already-fatigued millennials.

Life became more simple, when others stepped in to defend her honor, to place a tip upon the point of reason to a young sibling--unaware that she allowed to question her surroundings. Artemis had left a life of pathetic existence; clocking-out of duty and foregoing unofficial patient-privileged confidentiality to a woman too cowardly to hear suggestions of mental-wellness checkup, or a regimen of health because age superseded professional credibility. Artemis left a home of conflict, a fluffy friend--seeking resolution as to why her siblings found comfort in mistreatment and knowing that one’s own mental health was not to be seen as an easily neglected game.

Artemis had seen the light-biting the gagging turnicate of discomfort, blurting out disagreement to Dianne’s "compliment"--stating titillated content in Artemis’s commitment to visuals. The path of depravity was cut off in a single sentence, denoting the fact that it was completely inappropriate to call a blood relative "sexy" in any context. A single ruling glare; was the only response given by a woman that took critique and criticism personal--causing Artemis to hasten a concerned step; leaving premises of a depraved trail willingly. Artemis had silently whisking herself away to safety-realizing her existence was being paved specifically to enable, excuse, and encourage a perverse hunting game.

Normalcy was a battle for hopeless romantic lost souls; those torn between the memories of all the things others said and did to their unwilling body, and the struggles of being tied up by insecurities. It took Herculean strength; to return to reality each sunrise...to be present in words and profound in the efforts of hardening one’s heart. Artemis said awful, pragmatic things in regard to her estranged relations. "I feel like my two sister’s make me unwell, and vice versa." Artemis began running a path unknown, unafraid to travel alone if it meant breaking a cycle of sexual abuse--reclaiming her tired body and purging her mind with professionals. She had finally told someone as to the designated chore of cleaning a bookshelf; and how the adults around her had planted a seed of violence with their collection of prized illustrations. A single flimsy book could prove evidence to Hera’s "love for children", and the exclusive protective services offered at the expense of the tax-payers. Hera could be witnessed stating that only Artemis was allowed to clean the bookshelf, for whatever reason. Hera may have been afraid that her own grandchildren might misunderstand the guided exposure reserved for wicked children. What excuses would Hera’s own children give to an ever-present book that predated all of Artemis’s existence. The voice of Hayla met the waves of rage that washed over Artemis’s feet. She was forever the conflicted child; surrendering to the role of victim at last. To live without; meant a life of safety, a chance at happiness--to run for one’s own life on a narrow path un-blazoned by a single person; throwing boulders over carved trails--refusing to allow evil to prevail in a world where people had little, to-no expectations for a majority of millennials.

Her sadness for a child left thrown into the waves of sexual proclivities was thrown aside-bound into a cursed book of beastly individuals; occasionally resurfaced in moments of guilt-ridden comfort. Artemis had loved Orion deeply, to his bones; as if the darkness in her life was necessary for stars such him to shine. She had ran away from him; too afraid by the idea of being unable to live without his embrace. The riptide of their nights together, gifted Artemis with blushed cheeks and cached memories. Artemis needn’t describe what future newlyweds--do in the privacy of their own chambers to her readers, and she needn’t apologize for warding off endless sadness with readily made memories that proved some of the ways Orion had loved her... once upon a time. Their love had been nothing to him, outside of a place to sleep and a heart to manipulate; because his commitment was to his own desires, and her raw emotions were considered an achievement gained in a twisted game.

Artemis rescinded for the night: if only to dream of the tangible person who kept showing up at her door with beautifully-timed sporadic confidence. She was finally done fighting y’alls battles: smiling at the idea that her estranged husband taking a position in a door way once more...thinking to herself “ugg...probably since forever”. Artemis smiled sincerely in a time of morbid chaos--finally at peace with her failing physical might, and prepared to let the next seizure take her away from her chronic pain at last. There had to be more to the universe than an orphan fighting off fatal seizures for what seemed like a millennium. The world wasn’t made to protect orphans given seeds of vitriol intent, it hadn’t been crafted to secure a comfortable life for a citizen throwing mounds of paperwork at underfunded offices. There was nothing left for a woman drowning in academic, and medical debt--nothing to audit or formulate excuses around. There was nothing for her here. An ocean was all there was to explain her existence, as if unapologetic harshness of waters clamoring over her helpless body were an unbeatable game.

Tears were fought back; embarrassed less, by the pummeling of waters, and more so by the idea of Orion standing idle on the shores sideline. She had wanted to turn back time, to change his mind with words Said by the Sky. For a man who claimed to love swimming; the definitive boundaries of comfort were bound by his unrealistic understanding as to what she’d survived to find him wading along the shore. Artemis had no idea where this criminal disguised as basic-ass-bitch named Hopey was. There was no settlement in sight for those fighting for right reason. Her job had only been to find Hopey as a bounty, and she’d lured the strange Siren out with a Boar that touched his genitals whenever she was near. Sirens loved attention, the bombardment of fawning--more than they longed for shiny things, a lesson she had learned from hunting a hoe named Elizabeth. Artemis posted her stories with jubilee: knowing she had finally found hope in the ocean of misaligned positioning. Reminding her readers that written history was dictated by losers, those that would easily cheat, steal, in battles unfairly drawn. The cost of winning meant more than freedom itself. She had wondered why they had settled on the “love of country” spells proposed by the mechanical Boar, and his alliance of thugs. Artemis slept for what seemed like forever--bored by all she had seen and known to be true, laughing that they had derogatorily overlooked an entire group of citizens that were meant to change the world: an understandably exhausted group of individuals that proudly, and occasionally called themselves the millennials.

Next Chapter: *[ XXXIX ] Artemis and the Tila*