The Decaying Dream of America: I Assemble Corpses and Confront Madness

A few days later, the rain in Emerald Dream City finally stopped.

The sky was a washed-out gray, and the damp air clung to the skin.

Lin Zheng, Smith, and Sam met at the same bar they had met before.

Thinker's Bar.

They really need to think carefully about the recent events and sort out their chaotic thoughts.

The TV behind the bar was on, and it was very loud; it was the only background music there.

The floor felt sticky underfoot, and there were cigarette burn marks on the edge of the table.

They found a corner booth and sat down, the light bulbs above their heads flickering.

"Three whiskeys, the best kind." Smith snapped his fingers, smoothed his handsome blond hair at the waitress who came to serve him, and stuffed a few bills into her swaying chest.

The pretty waitress winked at Smith, and soon brought over three thick-bottomed glasses. The brownish-gold liquid was served with ice, and a note was placed under Smith's glass.

It was clearly a phone number.

"I'll call you, be ready to answer my calls, baby." Smith flicked the note and whistled as he flirted with the pretty waitress.

The three grown men exchanged smiles as they watched the beautiful waitress sway away, then raised their glasses to clink.

"To the living," Lin Zheng said, and Smith and Sam echoed the sentiment.

Sam picked up the glass, gulped down about half of it, then coughed heavily a few times, his face turning bright red.

"Damn," he uttered, his eyes glistening with tears.

Lin Zheng drank half a glass of wine and swirled the glass, the ice cubes hitting the glass with a crisp sound.

The memory of the shooting was still fresh; the burning sensation of the chemicals seemed to linger in his throat, and anything irritating reminded him of that afternoon.

"To those who survived this ordeal." Smith raised his glass and then raised it again.

"A toast to the three of us." Sam also raised his glass one last time.

One glass of whiskey, and the three brothers downed it all in three rounds of toasts.

"Sanna, I think you should bring over the whole bottle of whiskey. After we finish drinking it, I'll come to your place, okay?" Smith called out to the pretty waitress from earlier.

Pour more wine.

The three of them gently clinked their glasses, the sound of the glass clashing being drowned out by the impassioned speech coming from the television.

On the television screen, a female member of parliament wearing a dark blue suit and a national flag brooch stood behind the podium, her expression sorrowful and her voice choked with sobs.

"...Once again, our children have fallen victim to gunfire in what should have been their safest place, in the halls of knowledge!"

She raised one hand, her fist clenched.

How many more tragedies like this must we witness? How many more innocent lives must we shed?

The camera cuts to the audience below the stage, where several people are wiping their eyes with handkerchiefs, their expressions sorrowful.

"Enough! It's time to take action! We must pass a 'common sense' gun control bill, ban the sale of assault weapons, and close the loopholes in background checks!"

The female councilor raised her voice, filled with a strong sense of justice.

"Cast the right vote for our children, for our future!"

As soon as she finished her speech, the scene switched to the studio, where two commentators began a heated debate.

The man on the left said, "This is emotional blackmail. They are using tragedy to violate the Second Amendment rights of law-abiding citizens."

The woman on the right retorted, "Are constitutional rights more important than life? The current situation is that anyone can easily buy a rifle that can be used in war!"

"So the problem lies with people, not with guns! What we should be focusing on is the increasingly serious mental health crisis!"

"Come on, you always use mental health as an excuse. You just don't want to offend the gun association!"

"That's slander!"

"That's true!"

Lin Zheng stared at the two faces on the screen, distorted with excitement, and felt a moment of disorientation.

"Are they... just arguing like this in public?" he asked Smith softly.

In my hometown, the news is usually filled with harmony.

This kind of blatant, almost personal attack political debate was completely foreign to him.

Smith took a sip of whiskey, the ice crunching in his mouth.

"Arguing? No, Lin, this isn't arguing." He pointed to the television. "This is a performance, a commercial break."

"GG?"

“Yes.” Smith put his cup on the table. “Look at that female senator, was she wrong? No. And that male commentator, was he wrong? No. But nothing they said was helpful in solving the problem.”

Sam snorted and pushed the empty glass aside: "They just want to get rid of their own rivals."

“You’re right, Sam.” Smith snapped his fingers. “The shooting wasn’t a tragedy for them; it was ammunition. It was a gift from heaven.”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice.

"A problem that has been solved is useless. But a bleeding wound... that's different. A bleeding wound can bring donations, media exposure, and the anger and fear of voters. Ultimately, it brings power."

Smith pointed to his chest, then to Lin Zheng and Sam.

"We, all of us who have been through this, are the wound. They will do everything in their power to ensure that this wound is always fresh and always bleeding."

The debate on TV was paused, and GG was broadcast instead.

The first GG's screen was very dark.

The camera is handheld and shaking violently; you can hear heavy breathing and suppressed sobbing.

Several students hid under their desks, while outside the door came clear footsteps and the metallic sound of a gun bolt being pulled back.

A girl's eyes were filled with tears and fear.

The screen went black, and a line of white text appeared: "Our children should not live in fear."

Then came the female legislator's campaign logo and a slogan: "Vote for her for a safer tomorrow."

GG lasted only thirty seconds, but the immersive sense of fear sent a chill down Lin Zheng's spine.

"This..." He couldn't find the words to describe it for a moment.

"See that?" Smith said. "What is it saying? It's saying that danger is everywhere, and your child could die at any moment. It's selling fear. It's scaring you half to death, and then telling you that the congresswoman is the only savior."

Then, the second GG began.

The art styles are completely different.

On a sunny afternoon, a man was teaching his son how to play baseball in his backyard.

The house is a beautiful two-story building with a white fence and a neatly trimmed lawn.

The wife came out of the house carrying a glass of lemonade, her face beaming with a happy smile.

At this moment, a voice-over rang out, its tone calm and powerful: "Some things are those that we need to protect with our own hands."

The camera slowly zooms out, revealing a pistol grip protruding from the holster on the man's waist.

The screen went black again, and a line of text appeared: "Your home, your rights, your responsibilities."

Finally, there's the logo of the Gun Rights Association and the name of a male legislator who supports gun rights.

"And this one is the same."

Seeing Lin Zheng deep in thought, Smith continued to explain.

"It also sells fear. It says that the police won't be here soon, the law can't protect you, the outside world is dangerous, and only the gun in your hand can protect this beautiful home. If you don't buy a gun, you're an irresponsible coward, and you and your family will be torn apart by criminals."

Sam slammed his fist on the table, and the ice cube in the glass jumped.

"A bunch of bastards!" he growled, veins bulging on his neck. "They sit in their mansions with private bodyguards, telling us people living in these slums that we should either not buy guns and wait to be robbed, or buy lots of guns and hopefully our neighbors will be constantly at each other's throats!"

"That's the key point, Sam." Smith pointed to the television, where the debate had resumed, with both sides arguing again about whether the right to bear arms is a God-given right.

"They divided everyone into two camps and then fed both camps with fear."

Smith dipped his finger in the liquor and drew a dividing line on the table.

"If you're afraid of guns, you vote for gun control. If you're afraid of not having guns, you vote for gun ownership. You have to choose one side, right? Once you choose, you're trapped."

Lin Zheng stared blankly at the wine liquid that was winding and twisting on the table.

He recalled what his teacher had told him back in China: "Unite all forces that can be united."

But here, what he saw was "the division of all groups that can be divided".

"Why not sit down and talk things out, and find a compromise?" Lin Zheng asked what he considered a perfectly normal question.

Smith burst into laughter, laughing so hard he almost fell over.

"Compromise? Lin, my friend, in American politics, 'compromise' equals 'betrayal.' If you compromise with your supporters, you're a coward, and you'll be out of the next election. The rules of the game here aren't about building the nation, but about destroying your opponents. It's a fight to the death."

He finished the drink in his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Do you know what our country's biggest industry is? It's not Hollywood, not Wall Street, not Silicon Valley. It's politics. It's a massive industry worth trillions of dollars that operates on the basis of creating division and hatred. Everyone in it, from the president to your neighborhood councilor, is a link in this chain."

The news was reporting on the aftermath of the school shooting.

A school spokesperson reiterated that this was an "isolated and unfortunate incident stemming from an individual's mental health issues" and announced that campus security and mental health counselors would be increased.

Kevin Baker was portrayed as a typical, taciturn victim of bullying, and his "suicide note" was repeatedly quoted by the media.

As for what he said at the scene, no media outlet mentioned it.

It's as if that memory only exists in the minds of Lin Zheng, Smith, and Sam.

"They don't even need to coordinate their statements; the media broadcasting system automatically filters out the truth during debates and arguments."

Smith looked at the news, his tone icy.

"What a great story: a mentally ill student taking revenge on society! Simple, easy to understand, and it can also spark a war of words between the two parties, boosting both TV ratings and website traffic. Perfect."

Sam scratched his hair in frustration.

"I'm going to the restroom," he said, getting up and walking towards the bathroom.

Lin Zheng looked at Sam's back. The tall, usually gentle black youth was now filled with uncontrollable anger and helplessness.

"...I find it hard to accept," Lin Zheng said.

"It's hard for us all to accept," Smith poured himself another glass of wine. "But that's reality. Welcome to America, Lin. Or rather..."

He paused for a moment, then raised his glass to clink with Lin Zheng's.

"Welcome to the ranch."

Lin Zheng looked at him, puzzled.

"pasture?"

"Yes, the ranch." Smith's eyes sharpened, piercing through the tavern's noise to see something more essential.

“We are the lambs. docile, foolish, domesticated lambs. And they,” he gestured with his chin towards the well-dressed people on television, “are the shepherds. Or sheepdogs.”

Just then, the news program on TV ended, and another public service announcement began to air.

The texture of this GG is different from the previous ones.

It has no rousing music, nor any sentimental visuals.

The camera is fixed, simulating a surveillance camera in a school corridor.

The image is black and white, with a rough, grainy texture.

A boy was eating alone in a corner of the cafeteria.

Another boy walked over and deliberately knocked his plate over.

The surrounding students were snickering.

In the next scene, the boy is asked a question by the teacher in class. He stands up but can't say a word, and the whole class bursts into laughter.

In another scene, the boy is walking home alone when several students block him in an alley and snatch his schoolbag.

The entire process was completely silent, filled with a suffocating stillness.

Then, the scene cuts to a crowded classroom, and the camera slowly, slowly pans across the young faces of each student.

Their expressions varied; some were listening attentively, some were lost in thought, and some were whispering among themselves.

A deep, emotionless voice-over says: "Sometimes, threats... sit right next to you."

The screen turns black.

A line of white text slowly appeared:

"See something, say something."

GG is over.

For a few seconds, even the drunks at the bar fell silent in the tavern.

A cold, viscous silence enveloped everyone.

What is this guy saying?

It did not call on people to care about the bullied boy, nor did it condemn the perpetrators.

It didn't even mention guns.

It simply portrays the bullied boy as a potential, impending "threat."

It's telling everyone: Be wary of those quiet, isolated classmates around you; they might be the next school shooter. Report them before they harm you.

"Do you understand now?" Smith's voice was very soft; he was asking Lin Zheng, or perhaps talking to himself.

"This is the ultimate fear. They don't even need to scare you with guns anymore. They make you afraid of your own kind. They make you suspicious of your classmates, your neighbors, everyone who is different from you."

Smith picked up a few snacks and popped them into his mouth.

"They turned society into a dark forest. Everyone became both hunter and prey. A flock of sheep filled with suspicion and distrust is the easiest to manage because they will never unite; they will only be wary of and attack each other."

Smith drew a circle in the air with his hand.

"These news articles, these debates... they are scarecrows hidden in the television, sheepdogs weaving through the signal. Their purpose is not to persuade you, not to educate you, not even to spread information. They have only one purpose—"

He stared into Lin Zheng's eyes and said, word by word:

"Drive us away."

"They use fear to drive us from one polling station to another. They drive our money from our pockets into their vaults. They drive our thoughts from our own minds onto the tracks they've set."

Lin Zheng recalled Franklin Roosevelt's famous quote: "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."

But now he realizes that there was a half-sentence left unsaid.

The only thing we have to fear is the fear of being meticulously designed, mass-produced, and sold.

That fear will envelop you, permeate you, immerse you in it, and prevent you from thinking about anything else. You won't be able to think about next month's rent, your children's education, or the real problems facing this country.

All your energy is being used to fear a threat that may never happen.

"In Christianity, God compares believers to lost sheep." Smith's voice carried a peculiar tone, a mixture of mockery and sorrow. "And here, capitalists and politicians also see the masses as ignorant sheep."

"One is the God who controls the spiritual world, and the other is the God who controls the material world. And the life of the lamb is thus arranged clearly."

Lin Zheng picked up his glass and downed the now-cold whiskey in one gulp.

The spicy liquid burned his throat and rushed down into his stomach.

A fire is burning.

But this heat was completely unable to dispel the chill in his heart.

He looked out through the tavern's dirty window.

It was completely dark.

The streetlights came on, outlining the city's silhouette.

Traffic flows endlessly, people hurry by, each rushing toward a promised future.

But he knows now.

There is no future here.

There is only one vast, invisible pasture here.

All of them were just sheep being raised in captivity.

The only difference is that some lambs never know the fence exists until they die.

And now he sees it.