We woke up to the stench of rotting fish and banks of sand where once there'd been water, and realized some idiot had killed the sea god.

Probably Aaron. She'd disappeared the week before, along with that deity-defying sword that was supposed to be a secret, as if the unholy clearing wasn't every teenager's favourite hideout.

(The reason it was every kid's favourite hideout was because the-unholy-clearing-of-the-deity-defying-sword was supposed to be a secret, so every thirteen-year-old that stumbled upon it thought they had found the specialest, most well-hidden place on Earth, and consequently thought it'd be a great place to get drunk or have sex or do something else their parents hated.)

(We were maybe better at lying to ourselves than we were at keeping secrets.)

Point was Aaron had disappeared along with a sword to kill the gods, and she'd talked about killing the sea god for, well, honestly just about her entire life, so the fact that Aaron was off to try and murder a god had been a secret as well-kept as that sword. It's just that none of us thought she'd succeed.

Standing in front of the mudpool that had once been an ocean, we very much regretted not taking that sword more seriously. At least, most of us did. A few of the older ones, who at every town meeting had advocated for removing the sword from its sacrilegious pedestal to a high-security safe, instead felt a grim undercurrent of satisfaction. Not that it made them any less doomed, of course, they were well aware of that, but still, it was always nice to be proven right.

It was barely morning but the fish were already rotting, so Aaron must've done the deed sometime when we were all asleep. It was a little disturbing, that Aaron had fought a god and stabbed it to death while none of us so much as had a nightmare. There'd been no thunderous roar of pain, no body of eldritch proportions and impossible flesh bubbling up to the surface of the sea like poison, nothing except the delighted cry of seagulls and other scavengers in the morning. It'd been so loud none of us had even noticed the ocean's silence until we stepped out of the door and saw its absence.

One by one we congregated to the beach, or what had once been one. The first of us were the baker and Julia, who'd never been able to sleep and had a habit of going on early morning walks. Julia had gotten there about half an hour before the baker, actually, and was still staring uncomprehendingly at the hole in the world when the baker came walking down the boulevard without really looking, then stopped, did a double-take, really looked, and joined her in staring. It was probably another hour before it sank in for either of them.

Julia turned to look at the baker. "Tell me I'm hallucinating."

The baker shook his head in disbelief. Julia hid her face in her hands and took deep breaths, like her therapist had taught her. Somehow, it wasn't helping much.

"Do we... do we call someone?" the baker asked her.

Julia gave a high-pitched, hysterical snort. "They'll find out soon enough. Let's enjoy a few moments before the entire town goes to hell."

Fair enough. Julia went home, took as many of her pills as her rapidly-declining self preservation would allow her to take, and was dead before long; her rapidly-declining self preservation had miscalculated. The baker, not knowing what else to do, went to work, never turned the 'closed' sign to 'open', and spent a whole day stress baking. By the end of it he had the most elaborate breads he'd ever made and he took a good few of them home, pulled out his fanciest wine, and spent nearly all his money ordering the highest-end ingredients he could find. Might as well get a taste of the finer things in life before it ended.

The rest of us woke up at a more reasonable time. The early birds who lived near the ocean were the first to find out, aside from Julia and the baker. They gaped and stared much the same way, but there were more of them, trickling out between 6 and 7 AM, and they could look at each other, see their neighbour's astonishment, and realize it was real a little quicker. That's when they pulled out their phones and the whole town went to hell.

Sooner or later, mostly sooner, we all ended up on the boulevard. We were packed there like sardines in a can, louder than the seagulls, yelling and pointing and trying to climb on each other's shoulders to get a look at what was gone. It's not that there were that many of us, this was a small town; it's just that the streets were meant to hold much fewer than the few hundred people that flooded them. Nobody was crushed, but that was probably a blessing from some poor god who hadn't caught on yet to the fact that everyone was dead either way.

Because we were dead. We bargained of course, especially the young ones, who rapidly tried to remember what they'd learned about the water cycle in school. "There's great lakes that can create their own weather," they told each other, but none of them really believed it. We checked the news, hoping that somehow we were the only ones affected, but no, we weren't. The sea - all the seas, all the oceans, all the saltwater - was gone, and experts were already having a meltdown about our continued survival odds. They were bargaining too, talking about filling the oceans up again with water - they did not specify where that water would come from - and some of us believed it, because we had to. Most were too panicked to believe in much of anything except how much we hated Aaron.

The really old ones who'd seen it before - albeit on a smaller scale - when Klaartje had killed the god of oak trees for who-knows-what-reason (largely just to see if she could, but nobody except her best friend Dieuwke had been privy to Klaartje's megalomaniacal tendencies), were wondering whether it was worth trying to ride it out to the bitter end, or if they should just cut it short. To be fair some of the younger ones were thinking it too, especially the teenagers, old enough to understand the consequences and young enough not to have anything real to live for yet.

There was a lot of suicide in the following days. It peaked about a month after the initial discovery, when most everyone who just wanted a gentle death had depleted their funds and done all they reasonably could, and took the easy way out. There was also a lot in the first few days, when the ones who'd already been suicidal or even just generally depressed had suddenly lost all reason not to.

But most of us clung to life like one of those now-dead barnacles to an above-water rock, even the really old ones, even the teenagers, even those who were suicidal. Anna, who'd been institutionalized in the big city no less than three times, looked at the noose she'd made for herself and bargained the same way she'd done for the past ten years, telling herself she could do it tomorrow. It turns out that even at the end of the world there were still dandelions and lots of pretty shells to find on the beach.

Those of us who chose to try and outlive the remaining gods briefly floated the idea of snitching on Aaron, but no. We were a small town, not exactly isolated, not very good at being secretive, but certainly hostile to telling anyone we didn't already know anything useful. None of us seriously considered informing the experts or the news about Aaron. None of us may have liked Aaron, none except her mom, who'd died in a storm about a month before -

Okay, so maybe we felt a little guilty. Some of us, at least. Most were just pissed that Aaron hadn't killed herself like a normal person, or better yet just quietly disappeared from the town without that profane sword. It wasn't as if the rest of us hadn't suffered under the sea god; we'd all lost someone to the hungry waves, had all spit in the water only to nearly drown next summer, had all squabbled over who had to give up their most prized possession to appease the power-hungry cunt when the fish had once again ran dry, and twice, we'd even pulled lots to see who the unfortunate bastard would be to walk into the sea as a sacrifice. We'd all hated that damn god, but we'd taken it like normal people. We'd understood the alternative was worse, that sometimes all you could do was pray through gritted teeth while nails dug into your arm, and then describe in vivid detail what you wanted to do to the fucker with that sword. You weren't supposed to actually do it.

Aaron hadn't known when to lie down and take it and now we were all going to fucking die because of it.

Some of us wondered where Aaron was now, if she regretted it, if she was trying to fix it, or if she was sitting on a cliff somewhere inhaling the smell of death, high on her own success. The corpse of Aaron's mom showed up at the beach one day, or at least, we think it was Aaron's mom because it still had that charm bracelet Aaron had made for her in middle school around its bloated, decomposing wrist. There was a fight over whether to bury it or let it rot to be eaten by seagulls. Aaron loved it, and some of us were incredibly petty and more than a little cruel. In the end morality won out, though we compromised by burying it where the sea would've been as a childish fuck-you.

The grave was unmarked, or supposed to be, except Anna thought it was unfair and had nothing really better to do, so she took the shells she'd gathered over the years and arranged them in an elaborate pattern that was artistic despite a general lack of talent. It's because there was passion, as much passion as a suicidal wreck who refused to die even at the end of the world could give. The result was so spectacular it made several of us cry, and, like we said, we hadn't even liked Aaron, so by extension we didn't like her mom. But there was something about the grave, far out at what would've been the sea, and a few of us couldn't stop going there.

Geert-Jan, who absolutely insisted on being called Geert-Jan despite everyone desperately wanting to call him Geert, limped his way over there every morning even though his cane couldn't find much of a grip on the loose sand. He stayed there throughout the day, scaring off everyone ill-intended with a shotgun he claimed was from his hunting days, nevermind you weren't supposed to use a shotgun to hunt. Lisa, who'd been in Aaron's graduating class and had once fought her so viciously she still had scars from the boxcutters, joined him in the evening, staring at the shells as if they contained the mysteries of the universe. Theo, jobless after he'd stopped caring enough, often lingered some ways off, inching ever closer by the day. Anna also came by whenever she could drag herself out of bed, and added more shells.

One day, Geert-Jan added a few as well. Theo hesitantly placed one at the very edge then hurried back home, hoping no-one had seen him. Lisa jokingly added a boxcutter, the joke ruined by the reverence with which she placed it on the sand. Geert-Jan put a hand on her shoulder and she asked him if anyone knew what Aaron's mom had found important. She got no answer.

Aaron's mom had been nice. No-one could find a bad thing to say about her, except that she'd been Aaron's mom. She'd fished for a living, like only the bravest or dumbest of us did, but that had been the most remarkable thing about her. She'd loved Aaron, that's for sure; even when at sea she'd called every day.

We all had stray memories of her, shards here and there, and if we'd put them together we could've formed some sort of picture, ripped and faded though it would've been. As it stood, only Geert-Jan, Lisa, Anna, and - ever-hesitantly - Theo compared their notes.

"Taught that girl when she was little, before I decided teaching wasn't for me," Geert-Jan said. "Can barely remember her. Quiet, if I had to guess. Certainly no troublemaker, I remember those."

"She always came to pick up Aaron when we were kids," Lisa added. "Only time I can remember hearing her talk was in the principle's office, though. She apologized to my parents for Aaron's behaviour and kept telling Aaron to stop yelling." She paused. "I figured even Aaron's mom thought she was a bitch."

"Didn't know her at all," Anna said bluntly.

Theo, about a meter removed from the rest of the group, said softly, "I saw her praying before she went out to sea, once. She offered something as well." He licked his lips. "I can't really remember when it was, but..." He trailed off, but they all caught his meaning.

"You think she died because the offer wasn't good enough?" Anna asked.

Theo shrugged, avoided eye contact. "Maybe."

They didn't speak of it again. It didn't really matter either way, they told themselves. They'd all lost people to the sea god, and they'd all known better than to pick up the sword.

Over the months, we dwindled. Food disappeared as rains ceased and stores ran out. Plants died off. Water became near-impossible to get. We rationed. We grew thinner. We died, not by our own hand.

Geert-Jan used his shotgun more than ever. He had plenty of ammunition; he wasn't worried. Lisa started coming by for longer. Theo grew too tired to be avoidant and slept next to them. Anna still showed up, stubbornly, with a small bag of ever-scarcer shells. The art was a good few meters wide now.

One day, Geert-Jan tapped his way to the grave to find Aaron sitting there. He stopped. The shotgun in his hands burned.

"You want me to shoot you?" he asked, not quite unfriendly. Over the months, he'd perhaps stopped hating Aaron as much as the rest of us.

Aaron turned to him. She'd grown thinner, as everyone; her clothes were ragged, her hair chopped short, uneven. That cursed sword lay on her lap as she sat, cross-legged, in front of her mom's grave.

"Didn't kill a god just for some old bitch to shoot me dead," she said, not quite unfriendly, either. "If I die I'll damn well die trying."

"If," Geert-Jan repeated mildly.

Aaron looked him dead in the eyes. "If."

There was no scar on her, he noted. None that he could see at least, except for the thin line on her cheek, nearly faded, and Lisa'd already told him where that came from.

He shrugged and sat down next to her. They didn't say another word. Those of us who went to the grave that day were scared off not by Geert-Jan, but by the god-killer sitting next to him, not even looking at us. We'd all talked shit about what we'd do to Aaron if we saw her again, but we all knew better than to act on it.

Theo arrived second. He stopped when he saw Aaron, eyes wide. Geert-Jan beckoned him. Cautiously, he shuffled closer. It took him nearly an hour to end up next to Aaron, who hadn't even acknowledged him.

He scraped his throat. Had at least three false starts. Was still shaking when he asked, "Did your mom... offer anything, before...?"

Aaron threw him a glance so fierce he scrambled back. He did not run, though.

After some ten seconds she replied, "Her bracelet."

"Weird," Lisa said from behind them. Theo jumped; he hadn't heard her approach. "She had it on when we buried her."

Aaron whipped her head around and turned her glare on Lisa. She rolled her eyes and flopped on the ground right next to her, nearly touching the sword's tip with her face as she lay down on her stomach, arms folded under her chin. The sand had long since stopped smelling like the sea.

Lisa turned her head to Aaron and smiled. "What're you gonna do? Kill me?"

It was Aaron's turn to roll her eyes now. The sword stayed balanced on her knees, unmoving.

Anna showed up last, bags under her eyes, her hands twitching slightly, the few shells in her bag tinkling when they hit each other. She stopped dead in her tracks before getting to the grave.

Aaron turned around for her. She got up for her. For a moment, Aaron stood there, looking lost and unsure, as we'd never seen her, then clumsily bowed. Lisa barely suppressed a laugh and Geert-Jan hit her on the head for it.

"Thank you," Aaron said.

Anna's expression did not change. "I did not do this for you."

"I know," Aaron replied.

"I hate you."

"You and everyone else, I'm sure."

"You have no idea," Lisa drawled from her spot on the sea floor, and this time Theo was the one that hit her on the head. She looked far more affronted at that than she had earlier.

Aaron turned on her heels and sat back down, loosely balancing the sword against her thigh. "I think I've got a rough idea," she said dryly.

Anna pinched the bridge of her nose, breathed out deeply, and lay the three shells she'd managed to scrape up on the edge of the memorial.

They sat there as the sun set. At the last rays of light, Aaron announced: "I think we could replace god."

They looked at her like the crazy she was. "Mighty arrogant," Geert-Jan said, when it seemed no-one else would.

"I don't mean us," she said, in a tone like she was clarifying something, "I mean us. The narrators of the story, the town. Us all together, not us sitting here on the sand."

"Shut the fuck up," Lisa said, so venomous they all leaned away, except Aaron. "When has a story ever changed anything?"

"But we could do it," Aaron insisted. "Don't you see? All of us, even with a town as small as this - all of us are more than equal to one god. All it took was one asshole with a sword to kill it dead, how many more do you think it'd take to -"

"You know why I punched you in the face that day?" Lisa interrupted. "The sea had swallowed my uncle and you were an easier target."

Aaron said nothing.

"We hate you because we're jealous of you," she said. "We'd rather die than admit it, but there it is."

She was right.

"But if we all -" Aaron started. Theo stood up and left hurriedly, head to the ground, refusing to look at them. Aaron glared after him, but shut up.

Geert-Jan, Anna, Lisa, and Aaron remained sitting, watching as the last rays of light disappeared and the stars came up.

"How'd it feel?" Geert-Jan asked. "Killing the bastard."

Aaron laughed. "Man," she breathed. "If only I could describe it."

"Guess you had to have been there," he said, a twinge of regret in his voice.

"Yeah."

Anna sighed. "I'll try it."

They all turned to her.

"I'll become god or whatever," she said. "I mean, what do I got to loose?" She paused, then said, softer, "I'm running out of shells." She paused again. Then, louder, with an animal anger in her voice: "I'm tired of searching, I'll make some new ones my-fucking-self."

Aaron gripped the handle of her sword tightly and nodded.

Lisa sighed. "Yeah, what the fuck, I'm in." She pushed herself up out of the sand. "Might as well punch the right person this time or something."

Aaron broke out in a grin and hit her shoulder. "That's the spirit."

They looked at Geert-Jan expectantly.

He sighed.

"I'll be honest, I don't want to."

They kept staring.

"I said I didn't want to, not that I wouldn't." He let his gaze wander around the sand plane. His shoulders relaxed, he put the shotgun down next to him; his hands fell into his lap, and he looked soft, almost vulnerable. "I miss the sea."

Aaron leaned forward. She brushed one of the shells with her finger. "Yeah," she breathed.

And that's how we tried, at the end of the world.