Welcome to Rainbowland

Augustine was never one for games. She cared rarely for thrill or seduction, and as far as she was concerned, those were the two reasons why anyone ever accepted an invitation to play a game. She learned that growing up in a poker house, where she and other children of self-made millionaires witnessed traders and politicians delude themselves into believing that the room was filled with reciprocity and friendship, and that love existed wherever beauty did.

And so it was on the eighth of March that Augustine vowed to find the most boring place on Earth, and to live a boring, monotonous life until she died a boring, uninteresting death.

“Good evening, passengers, we are arriving at our destination,” the baritone voice that had welcomed her onto the train blared from the overhead speaker. “Doors will open on the right. Please watch your step—you never know where you might find spilled chocolate milk. Oh, and welcome to Rainbowland.”

Augustine stood at the doors, waiting for them to open and let in the gust of wind that would welcome her into her new life.

Once she was inside the station, Augustine noticed several distinct individuals. To her left, a skinny ginger-haired boy in a yellow shirt spat a rather large, rather pink wad of bubblegum into a metal bin. She could only assume that he had been working on that glob over the past six hours, the length of the train ride. On principle, Augustine never left anything in her mouth for more than forty minutes, but she didn’t mind it when other people did.

To her right, Augustine saw a woman couple a cigarette with a metal lighter and take a long, unbroken drag like it gave her pleasure and ecstasy and certainty all at once. It’s good for the mind, but it’s just awful for the soul, Augustine’s mother used to say whenever she lit a cigarette around her children. One day you’ll understand.

Augustine clutched her leather weekender bag and made her way through the revolving doors. Before she had gotten onto the train, every inch of her body was screaming at her, telling her to turn back. But now that she was here, Augustine truly believed that this place could be her new home.

“Do you need a taxi, ma’am?”

An attractive young man in a bellboy uniform looked at her with kind eyes and his hands folded behind his back.

“Thank you, but I don’t think so. I’m just wandering,” Augustine replied, hoping to sound as grateful as she felt.

“New in town?”

“Here to stay.”

“Is that so?”

Augustine pondered this for a moment. She had never needed to commit to staying someplace before. She was always simply there.

“Well, would you recommend it?” she asked.

“Certainly, I do. Been here ever since I was thirteen. Great fish, great people, and get this, you can watch the sun set over the water no matter where you are.”

“Is that something you do often?”

“Well, no. I’m usually indoors around sunset and, you know, you’d have to be outdoors.”

“Naturally.”

“Yes, but I do recommend settling down here.”

“Right.” Augustine swiftly became aware of her left shoulder, which ached under the weight of her cumbersome bag. “Is there a bar I could walk to? I’d really like to sit for a while and gather my thoughts.”

“A bar--a bar, yes! Right down the avenue,” the young man pointed by extending his arm. “Can’t miss it. Big glass windows.”

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure. Ah, apologies. I have another appointment to get to. I hope I have been of service to you, Augustine.”

“Of course.” Augustine was so enthralled by this charming man’s ability to keep track of time without a watch nor a clock tower nearby, that she hardly noticed that he had just called her by her first name and that she had yet to formally introduce herself. “I’m sure a bellboy like you must be kept very busy in a place like this.”

“Who said anything about a bellboy? I’m here to personally welcome you to Rainbowland.”

“How did you know I was coming?”

“It’s what I do. Say, have you enough money to get around?”

“A few hundred or so.”

“Not enough.”

Augustine wasn’t sure whether the perplexing man meant to insult her or advise her.

“Here,” he reached into his chest pocket and extracted a purple plastic card. “Twenty thousand, to get you started.”

“Oh, I couldn’t take your money.” Never take a strange man’s money, Augustine heard her mother’s voice in her head. Boring men, sure. Marry them. But not strange men.

“Don’t be silly, Augustine. It’s yours.”

She took the plastic card into her hands and ran her right thumb over each engraved letter: AUGUSTINE F. BANK OF RAINBOWLAND. And before she could protest, she realized that the spurious bellboy was gone.

Filled with questions she never thought she could have, Augustine decided to look for answers at the bar. She started in the direction of the town’s skyline, which was forged by beige one-storey buildings and neon streetlamps that looked like playthings against the enormous mountains behind them that faded into billowing clouds.

Just as Augustine stepped onto the intersection that would finally lead her away from the train station, she heard a gruff voice.

“Careful with that.”

The voice came from behind her, and it belonged to a man whose glossy green eyes looked almost entirely dissociated from reality.

“Do I know you?” Augustine asked, even though she had certainly never been acquainted with the man.

“It doesn’t last as long as you think it will.”

“Oh, I’m not looking for excitement, if that’s what you mean.”

“Not that. That,” he raised his arm so slightly that it was almost imperceivable. “The money never lasts. And when it dies out, so will you.”

Augustine was, at this point, tired of becoming more confused the more she spoke with men outside the train station. “I suppose I’ll get a job, then.”

“It’ll never be enough. Not unless you sell your soul. Look, I sit here all day sketchin’ the mountains.” He held up a small black notebook for emphasis. “I see all sorts of people gettin’ off the train, lookin’ for exactly what you’re lookin’ for. Monotony. Right? But do you know how many people get onto the train? Not one. Not a single one. It’s like they’ve all forgotten that I’m here, that the train station’s here, that there’s a way out!”

“I guess they found what they were looking for.”

“Lookin’ for nothingness. Now that’s real sad. Anyway, carry on your way. I hope you find your monotony.”

Augustine nodded sincerely. “I hope you find what you’re looking for too.”

As she made her way through the intersection, Augustine felt the warm evening breeze across her fingertips, reminding her of how her mother used to test the water with her fingers when she ran a bath. She listened for the low hum of cars in the distance and observed the faces of passersby who looked neither happy nor troubled. And with every passing second, Augustine felt her mind cloud over and memories of her past life fade. She felt at ease, like she had been holding her breath for twenty-three years and finally learned to exhale.

She was free.