The Glass Robin

The pollen was everywhere. It wasn't the kind of pollen that made you sneeze. It was the kind that looked like gold dust. It coated the benches. It sat on the leaves of the plastic trees. It made the air look like it was full of tiny, glowing bugs. I walked through the park and felt the grit under my boots.

The Great Pollination was the biggest day of the year in Neon-Eden.

Everything had to be just right. No mess. No mistakes. No ugly things. I looked down and saw it. It was a piece of blue plastic. It was a rectangle with a little curve at the end. An inhaler. It looked like a bruised thumb sitting on the perfect grass. It was a mistake. A blemish. It was low-tier trash. I stepped on it. I felt the plastic crack. I felt the metal canister inside pop. It made a sharp sound like a dry bone breaking. I ground it into the dirt with my heel until it was just flat, blue junk. Now the grass looked better.

My phone buzzed. It was Chief Gaines. "Patsy," he said. "The kid. Leo. Any sign?" I looked at the crushed blue plastic. "Nothing yet, Chief," I said. "Just some litter. I took care of it." I kept moving. The sun was big and yellow. It felt like a warm hand on the back of my neck. I passed a fountain that sprayed pink water. A woman was sitting on the edge of the fountain. She was crying. Her face was red and blotchy. Her mascara was running in long, black streaks down her cheeks. It looked like ink on a wet paper towel. It was distracting. It was ruining the vibe. This was a festival. People were supposed to be happy. I walked up to her and pulled a small mirror from my pocket. I checked my own reflection. My hair was flat. My eyes were clear. I looked sharp. I looked like I belonged in a magazine.

"My son," the woman said. She grabbed my arm. Her hand was sticky. I pulled away. "He’s gone. Leo is gone." I looked at her. Her grief was mid. It was too loud. It was too messy. "We are looking," I said. "But you should go home. Your face is a mess. You’re scaring the tourists." She blinked at me. Her mouth stayed open. She looked like a fish gasping for air. "My face?" she whispered. "My son is missing!" I sighed. I didn't have time for people who couldn't keep it together. "Go home," I said. "I’ll call you if he turns up. But fix the eyes. It’s depressing." I walked away before she could say anything else. The music started playing from the speakers hidden in the trees. It was soft and bright. It sounded like bells and sugar.

A man was waiting for me by the nectar-vats. He was wearing a long coat that was covered in strings. Everyone called him The Weaver. He worked in the sub-levels, making sure the city’s wires didn't tangle. He looked nervous. His hands were shaking. He was looking at the big glass vats filled with thick, gold liquid. The liquid was the nectar. It was what the city used for fuel. It smelled like honey and old batteries. "Detective," he said. He kept looking over his shoulder. "I saw him. I saw the boy." I crossed my arms. I looked at the vats. "Leo?" I asked. The Weaver nodded. "He was near the pipes. He was coughing. He looked sick. Then a shadow came. A big shadow. It took him down into the vats." I looked at The Weaver. He was ruinous to the aesthetic. His coat was dirty. His hair was a bird’s nest. He was telling a story that didn't fit the festival. Shadows? Monsters? That wasn't Neon-Eden.

"A shadow?" I asked. "Yes," he said. "It came out of the wall. It was dark. Like a hole in the light." I stepped closer to him. I smelled the grease on his skin. "You’re high on the fumes, Weaver," I said. "There are no shadows here. We have lights everywhere. We have the best lights." He shook his head. "No. I saw it. It’s dangerous." I pulled out my handcuffs. They were silver and shiny. They looked like jewelry. "You’re under arrest," I said. He looked confused. "For what?" I clicked the metal onto his wrists. "Aesthetic sabotage," I said. "You’re spreading ugly stories. You’re trying to ruin the Pollination. You’re a buzzkill." I pushed him toward my patrol car. He tried to argue, but I didn't listen. I liked the way the cuffs looked on him. They were the only nice thing he was wearing.

I drove to the edge of the city. The buildings were tall and white. They looked like giant teeth. I pulled up to a small, round building with no windows. This was the sub-basement. This was where the city kept the things that didn't fit. I used my keycard. The door slid open with a soft hiss. Inside, it was cool and quiet. It smelled like clean laundry and medicine. I walked down the hall. There were glass tubes lined up against the walls. Inside the tubes, there were children. They were sleeping. They were all wearing white pajamas. They looked peaceful. They looked perfect. They didn't have runny noses. They didn't have asthma. They didn't have messy hair. They were in stasis. I found the newest tube. Inside was Leo. He was small. He was pale. But here, in the soft blue light of the tube, he looked like a statue. He looked like art.

"He looks better now," a voice said. I turned around. It was Little Verne. He was the caretaker of the sub-basement. He was small and had a very round head. He was wearing a clean white suit. "He was very loud when they brought him in," Verne said. "He kept asking for his inhaler. He kept wheezing. It was very unpleasant to listen to." I nodded. "I found the inhaler," I said. "I took care of it. He doesn't need it anymore. He’s part of the collection now." Verne smiled. His teeth were very white. "The city is so much prettier when everyone is quiet," he said. I looked at Leo. He was a good addition. He had a nice chin. He would look good in the demographics report. No more coughing. No more ugly medical devices. Just a clean, sleeping boy in a clean, glowing room.

I went back to the surface. The sun was setting. The sky was turning a bright, neon pink. The festival was at its peak. Thousands of people were standing in the park, watching the gold pollen drift through the air. They were cheering. They were beautiful. I found Chief Gaines on the main stage. He was wearing a sash that said PEACE. "Patsy," he said. "Any news on the boy? The mother is making a scene at the station. She’s getting oil on the furniture." I smiled. I made sure my teeth caught the light. "The case is closed, Chief," I said. "The boy is gone. But it’s a good thing." He raised an eyebrow. "Gone?" I nodded. I looked out at the crowd. I felt the warm wind on my face. "He didn't go far," I said. "He transitioned. He ascended to a higher plane of floral consciousness. He became part of the beauty of the Great Pollination. He’s everywhere now. He’s in the air. He’s in the light."

Gaines looked at me for a long second. Then he laughed. He clapped me on the shoulder. "Higher plane of floral consciousness," he repeated. "I like that. It’s poetic. It’s very on-brand for the season." He turned to the microphone. He told the crowd the news. He told them that Leo was now a part of the city’s spirit. He told them that Leo was a hero of the festival. The crowd cheered. They threw more gold dust into the air. The mother, who was standing in the front row, stopped crying. She looked confused, but she started to clap. Everyone was happy. The vibe was saved.

I walked away from the stage. I felt a small stone in my boot. I sat down on a bench to shake it out. I looked at the ground. There were no pieces of blue plastic anymore. The grass was green. The pollen was gold. The world was perfect. I put my boot back on and stood up. My job was done. I had fixed the mess. But then I saw something. Near the nectar-vats, far in the distance, a flicker of movement. It wasn't a child. It wasn't a person. It was a dark spot. A hole in the light. It was moving toward the center of the park. It was a shadow. It shouldn't have been there. It was very, very ugly. I felt my stomach turn over. I had more work to do. I needed to find a way to make that shadow look like it belonged, or I would have to bury it deep underground where nobody would ever see it. I reached for my phone. I needed a bigger mirror. I needed to make sure I looked okay before I went back to work. The spring was just beginning, and there were still so many imperfections to erase.