𝕃𝔸𝕄𝕌.film ☾
New Comer
by Lamu Xiangqiu 10.10.2020
"Welcome to Wiccana, the town of Love and unit.”
I drive pass by the bright white Paint Board Sign. A large expanse of dark green grass gradually dwindled and replaced by one giant house after another. They are like vultures resting on a cliff, overbearing and arrogantly occupying the land—what a pleasant surprise. The town has nice weather and is built around the lake. It is quiet but not empty. There are no drunk, anxious junkies, no roaring fire engines, and the house I saw on a rental site costs $200 a month. It's a bit far from downtown New York, but before I got an internship at a publishing house, it is ideal to live and create, even if it was unbelievably cheap.
The little house is pure white, and white paint's smell remains as if it had been built recently. Some pale pink and yellow patterns are distributed on the door and the beams around the house. These patterns are surrounded by a symbol that looks like an antler. "Weird but cute." I wonder. There's no TV in the living room, so I remove the empty low cabinet and place a bamboo rocking chair against the wall. Life has developed more smoothly than I ever imagined. Life in Wicaana is like a paradise. Except for the occasional rubber-band-like visit to Manhattan and the newsroom to collect bills, I was able to stay in my sunny cabin.
The people in the town are polite and hospitable. My neighbors are a single mother, Marie, and her three-year-old son, Austin. As a woman, Marie, a single mother who works alone and takes care of the boy, can make herself delicate from the tip of her hair to her toes. Like a middle- aged bus driver, I seemed to lose faith in everything. Marie and I hit it off. Every time I talk to her, I always learn something that only her age can understand. But accidentally, Austin, playing alone in the distance, lets out a cry. He broke my glass jar. I rush to him and move him away, my heart as broken as the jar pieces, the only thing my mother left with me. I couldn't hear Marie's apology, and I didn't stop yelling at them until they left.
One night, Marie came to my house in a hurry with Austin. She had something urgent and had to have Austin looked after. I have no reason to refuse, and that day our little naughty was very quiet. We watched the cartoon, early I coaxed him to sleep. When Marie picked him up, she gave me a big hug and thanked me as if our relationship is fixed and rebound. Unexpectedly, the next day morning, Marie was outside my door in a tearful indictment, yelling that she wanted all the neighbors to hear her. I was shocked by this eerie sight. People are coming out of their homes to watch the show. Marie grabbed her son by the thigh and unflinchingly pulled down his pants, bloodshot scars glaring and horrifying on his snowy legs. My head was dizzy, and I was speechless at this sudden accusation. My mouth was open, analyzing those faces that are getting close to me. The suffocating pressure made me uncontrollably shake my head. That madwoman is crying out of the chain, seizing the child by the face and threatening him," Tell them! Tell everyone who hit you!
Little Austin raises his finger and straight point at me! He looked at me with tears in his eyes.
The whole town believed that crazy woman. I was confined in the house by a couple of men Marie had called in, and the town came to comfort the crazy woman and spit on me. Suddenly, everyone seemed to have proof that I was a violent, sadistic person. Some said I pushed shelves in a supermarket like a psycho, a waiter in a restaurant was verbally abused by me for making the wrong meal, I thrower a lighter to an old Korean guy at a gas station just because he confronts me smoking there. Another said, "The first time I saw her, I knew she must have a gun." Alone in my house, Trembling, I cried out to my jailer, I don't even smoke! The situation was on fire that no one heard my voice. As people gathered in front of my house, indignant that I, a girl they had never met, should be sent to the police. A middle-aged man came forward and said that if there were no evidence, the law would let me go free. They must punish me for themselves. I screamed in horror and pushed the furniture against the door. Then a couple of men madly banged on my door, and a couple of women rushed into my room after my flimsy furniture had been smashed apart. They tore my hair, tore open a sleeve of my sweater, and I was pushed and kicked out of the house. Immediately after I was cleared from the home, they went in to look for the so-called "gun," the weapon with which I abused the boy.
They rummaged through suitcases and took out everything that could be a weapon. They dug out my manuscript and read it aloud, making a mockery of it. A man broke my jar again and began to burn my manuscript. As I struggled madly, they held me in check and poured ice water over my head. I dare not fight back, and whenever I have the consciousness to fight back, they record it on video, saying that it is the basis of my violence. An older woman kicked me. I did not fight back. A boy slapped me on the ear, and I don't dare to dodge. It was getting dark, and I was so exhausted by their ordeal that I could only repeat my pleas for mercy. My eyes were starting to swell, and in the distance, I could see Marie, protected by the crowd, smiling contentedly as she cradled her baby. Boom! The fire hit the curtains, and people ran out of the room. The heavy curtain hanger hit the floor like a shot. The fire burst into a boil. But it seems to have made everyone in the town even more excited. They scribbled in my car, "Goblins! "Violent maniacs!" A few men with torches wheeled me up to the shelf of a van. They put me up on a pole, gave me strange hard antlers to wear, and paraded me through the streets. The whole town joined in, singing songs I had never heard before, Shouting slogans, even throwing pig's blood and eggs at me. I am fully aware of the reality, and I can not change the day. People were dancing round and round the car. Someone was doing strange worship. I've fainted countless times, and every time I've been arrested, I've marched on.
As we drove towards Lake Ronkonkoma, It seemed to me that I saw a distant billboard reading: "Welcome to Wiccana, the town of Love and Unit.