Today's meal is a bouquet of watercress and ten starchy rolls of cattail stems, stewed in a highrise pot and eaten by the seaside. The former tastes like pepper and rain; the latter has the texture of crunchy udon noodles.
After the meal, Jackie stands at the edge of the ocean holding her shoes. The tide steals the sand from beneath her toes. The wind is salty, and tastes like seaweed and pearls.
“If only we could just walk over there,” says Jackie. “Like some kind of Jesus. But you’re a demon, and I’m a girl, so maybe we’d be more like Lilith or something instead.”
"Unfortunately, water walking is not something I am familiar with," it responds.
The ocean breathes in, then breathes out. Jackie plays with a shell between her fingers, worrying away the sand from its crevices. "Can some demons walk on water?" she asks.
"I knew of one. He had a long neck, and preferred contemplative walks on misty lakes."
"Where is he now?"
"I've not a clue."
"Can demons die?"
Ignorance turns its head quickly, as if shocked. "No—not in the mortal sense. No, he is not dead. I'd wager he still wanders that lake to this day, in fact."
"So he's living a really boring life, and he might as well be dead."
“He is contemplating.”
“Did I s-s-s-stutter?”
“No.” A seagull glides overhead, its squawks slow, rhythmic.
She says, “I’m bored.”
“Might I suggest searching for a boat?”
“Bleh. I guess we might as well, considering we're at the beach.” Jackie swings her arm, and the shell flies into the horizon like a bird.
She does not see where it splashes, if it had splashed at all.
—
Yachts march against the shoreline, their painted coats a clammy offwhite. Dust sleeps against the hull, frosts the windows like ice. The first yacht that Jackie climbs into gives a dangerous moan. Closer inspection of the helm shows that the wheel has been torn right off, and the ceiling is hanging like a bare beer belly—swollen with salt and water. Onto the next yacht, but it is in a similar state of disrepair. By the time Jackie has assessed all ten yachts, the sun has burned into a harsh orange, and she has determined that none of these yachts are fit for travel.
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“At least there’s hot beer in the fridges,” she mumbles. “Old man water. Mmm.”
“I had thought the constructs of humans to be more…” Ignorance is bent over and picking at the flaking paint. “...Durable to the test of time. It seems rather inefficient that the quality of your constructs is positively correlated with the work required to maintain them.”
“No one thought the end of the world was gonna happen until it did,” says Jackie. “That’s why all the shelters look like shit, and all the house doors are open. Nobody had the time to go back and shut them because by the time they were out, they were already dead on the streets. You gotta paint and clean these yachts every year or something, or else they’ll break. We need something bigger and better, something made for travel.”
“Like that?”
Ignorance points towards the horizon, where the faintest outline of a city and its harbour glitters in the distance. No—the demon is pointing elsewhere, to the left of the staining sunset: something tall, with a patchwork of boxes piled upon its surface like building blocks. Something the adults left drifting in the harbour.
“No,” Jackie says, with a laugh. “I can’t—that’s way too big, I can’t drive that thing all the way across the ocean.”
"It is built for travel. It will not sink so easily, and its metallic hulls will have surely stood the test of time."
"Yeah, I know, it's big and strong and made of steel and shit. That's precisely why I can't drive it." She storms in front of Ignorance with her hands on her hips. "And! For your information, that's a ship. Ships need gallons and gallons of fuel, and a full crew, AND a captain on top of all that. So no, we aren't gonna set sail on a cargo ship."
Ignorance seems to slump at this, as though dejected, though it quickly straightens again as it surveys the horizon once more. "There were more boats in the harbour. We should still make for the city."
"The motorway into the city loops all the way around the coast though..." Jackie stretches and yawns. "We'll go in the morning, I guess. I'm tired right now though."
Something stirs in the demon's stance again, like a chill in the air. "That is curious."
"Hm?"
"Despite our pact, you still display… ah, what is the term?" A salient pause; the wind blows hot, dusting white sand over Ignorance's horns. "Biological tendencies. Humane urges."
Jackie makes a face. "What? Man, listen to yourself. I'm literally human, why wouldn't I be or act human as well?"
"You could not die from hunger even if you wished for it. Exhaustion has no claim on you. And yet you still pretend. I once imagined humans to enjoy freedom away from the shackles of mortality, but you seem wistful for it. Nostalgic, even. You eat as though it is your last day on this Earth."
Jackie shrugs. "I dunno. I really am tired, though, that part feels pretty real to me. I guess I just really like eating and sleeping that much."
This part of the beach is matted with dark seaweed; there is so much of it that it looks like the hair of the drowned. Jackie wonders how many had died at sea during the Fall. She wonders if they've crawled their way back towards the shore to haunt her, if everyone she once knew is watching her with envied-green eyes from the skies.
Finally, Ignorance says, in a low tone, "You must fully discard the rest of your humanity, Jackie. I cannot have my liege dying on me before I reach the Cataclysm. With our pact, we have all the time in the world; with your humanity, you have at most a few decades. That is not enough time to scour every inch of the Earth."
"Fine." Jackie pouts. "I'll think about it. I don't think my humanity's even a conscious decision at this point, but I'll think about it."
“Do not think.” Ignorance begins to walk away, its hooves clacking like chess pieces against hot concrete. “I need you to act.”
In truth, she has no idea what Ignorance is talking about. She has never known a day without hunger nor fatigue. Did they not co-exist with living? Were they not so heavily intertwined with the way your blood pumped around your body that the flesh grew around hunger and fatigue? To remove one would be like seeing out of your elbow. Like breathing out oxygen instead of carbon dioxide.
—
At night, Jackie slumbers all the same, but her sleep is spotty. Peppered between her bouts of consciousness are dreams of the sun, the heat, and the burning orange skies on the day of the Fall.
She wakes up hungry. A little less hungry.