What Jimi Found in the Valleys of Neptune

Prologue

The Dream

“Why did she fill your head with bees?”

The girl with blonde hair and brown eyes and thin lips knelt by a translucent glass boy by a weather-worn boulder in a field in a pine forest. The sky was overcast and the wind rippled the grass and the weeds in the field.

“I don’t know. But I’ll keep hammering until I break my head and the bees fly away.” His voice was airy.

Dawn watched him. His expression was always blank because he didn’t have muscles.

“You said you started hammering when Dawn discarded you, so that’s what, a year of hammering? Your head is still flawless.” She stroked his head.

“It’ll crack soon. First it’ll be a thin crack, and I’ll keep hammering and the crack will get bigger and then my head will break.”

“Won’t you die?” asked Dawn. The wind snapped up her beige trench coat.

“Dying might feel good, maybe like sleep.” He sighed and craned his neck to look around her at the pines. “I haven’t got used to the buzzing. Buzz buzz every second buzz. Sometimes they settle, and I try to sleep but then one stirs and rattles the others and, buzz, they start up again. It hurts.”

Dawn slid a finger down Neptune’s head, counting fourteen bees. “What would you say, if Dawn was here now?”

The glass boy hammered harder. “I would ask her why she made me glass. Then, I would make her open my head.”

“Why did she make you glass?”

The hammer hovered, and there was only swishing grass and rustling pines and bees tinking in Neptune’s head. “I don’t remember. I only remember that she made me glass and that she put bees in my head.”

“Why did she put bees in your head?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember anything about Dawn?”

“I remember some things. I remember her name and the look of the place where she made me glass, but it’s blurry.

“Why do you think she made you glass and put bees in your head?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the bees are special to her. She might want me to take care of them.”

Dawn laughed. “What if Dawn thought, ‘Neptune will have one faint ring, a hundred years from now. Then, it will rely on its moons to keep it company’.”

Neptune went back to hammering. “I’m not sure what that means.”

“It means she did you a favor.” Dawn looked at the grey sky. “What if the bees are your moons? What if they’ll keep you company?”

The hammer slowed. “You don’t know Dawn. She’s bad. And the bees are a very bad thing.”

Dawn traced his full blue lips. “How do you know she’s bad? You can’t remember anything. You might appreciate the bees if you stop hammering.”

“I’m not giving up!” Neptune doubled his speed.

“Not now, sure, but when you do—”

“There’s no when. I’ll hammer until I break my head.” he looked up. “Who did you say you are?”

“I didn’t.”

“Are you going to watch me the entire day?”

“Would it bother you if I did?”

“I could use the company, actually. I miss having friends and a mother and a father.”

She smiled. “What else do you miss?”

Neptune turned his head. “I haven’t seen Dipsy in a while. I miss her.”

“Dipsy?”

“Yeah, she was my dog. I miss petting her and I miss her licking my fingers. I think she was old, but I’m not sure.”

“You played with Dipsy a lot, didn’t you?” Dawn grinned at the bees.

“Sort of. We used to watch a show about a knight. ‘The Buttercup’ something. ”

So you can remember life before Dawn made you glass?”

He nodded. “A little. It’s not as blurry.”

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” chuckled Dawn. “Like forgetting a word. You can picture it, only it’s censored.”

“Yeah, like that.”

Dawn rooted a weed and flicked dirt off the roots. “What if your life was bad before you became glass? If Dawn made you glass to save you, would you love her?”

“I don’t know. She might’ve made my life bad in the first place.”

She swept back hair. “Would you know Dawn, if you saw her?”

Neptune shook his head. “Haven’t you been listening?” Clink. The hammer left his skull flawless.

“So you don’t remember Dawn, but you hate her for putting bees in your head.” Dawn licked her lips which made Neptune to really look at her.

“And for making me…” Neptune leaned forward. “You look familiar. I didn’t notice it before, but I think I’ve seen you before. Have we met?”

Dawn nodded. She cupped his cheek and kissed him. “Of course.”

The hammer hovered and the boy dipped his arm and he gaped and Dawn. “You,” he said.” The swarm of fourteen frenzied in his head, stirring up memories. Now he was an assortment of glass limbs on a rubber mat in a factory. Now he was sitting upright, in a closet with boxes and windows that looked out on a bustling plaza. Now his head opened. Now the bees. Now the field, shrouded by pines.

Cicadas started a piercing score.

“You...” Neptune was a leaf, trembling at Dawn.

“What will you say to me?” she smiled.

“Why me?” Neptune wailed and grabbed a lapel and shook her. “Why did you make me glass? And the bees! You filled my head with bees that always buzz.”

“You were lonely.” Dawn was frowning now. She tried to brush off the boy’s hand. “You need moons, Neptune!”

The bees frenzied. The boy shook Dawn. “Open my head, now!” he screamed.

“I can’t!” Dawn’s heart hammered and she tried to pry Neptune’s fingers.

“Open it or I’ll…” Neptune sobbed and screamed. Then, he swung the hammer.

“Wait!” Dawn jerked. Blood spurted and Dawn fell limp in the grass and the cicadas simmered. The glass boy gasped and regarded the toymaker and the red hammer and screamed with the cicadas. And he hammered his head.

A bee stung him, pocking his glass cheek and died and tinked in the hollow where his tongue had been before Dawn made him glass. Its venom spread fast and made him drowsy. The hammer slipped from Neptune’s hand. And then the field faded and sleep engulfed him and a voice reverberated in his head. Rest, Neptune.