Double Rainbows

We live in a world where joy and sorrow touch edges more often than we expect. One emotion spills into the next, and sometimes the mix creates something richer than either could alone.

This story grew out of that thought: a small fable about a Queen, a magical kingdom, and the surprising gift that comes when tears and laughter share the same sky.

Double Rainbows

    It’s not easy being the Queen of Magic Land, but when my bedroom wall opens each night after tuck-in, my kingdom beckons. 

    My work begins as soon as I leave my bed and climb into the realm. The lands glimmer, each offering me an invitation to a new adventure. I wish I could visit them all in one night, but of course this is impossible. 

    Besides, a Queen must go where she is needed. 

    And tonight I am needed in Laughing Land. 

    My stomach hurts just thinking about it. The last time I entered Laughing Land, my sides split. I doubled over and fell out of a chair. The visit left me in so many stitches I had to transfer straight to Hospital Land. Truly, it was no laughing matter. 

    I hold my breath as I enter the domain, girding myself against giggles. I reach for my ears, ready to block any particularly noisy guffaws. And that’s when I notice the first problem. 

    The land is quiet. 

    Laughing Land is a place of uninhibited glee. When you visit, you can’t catch your breath, but you don’t even care, because catching the next cackle is so much more fun. Friends come here for inside jokes. Puns are a dime a dozen. Exercise fanatics love the running gags. And the place is overloaded with dads. Yes, Laughing Land can sometimes be corny, but it’s never quiet.

    If it weren’t for the sound of my footsteps along the path, I might have thought I’d accidentally stumbled into Silent Land. But Irony Gate is just ahead. I’m in the right place, even though it feels very wrong. 

    Someone has left a Royal Petition on the gate. I carefully unroll the scroll, reading the words.

    “Grand Imperial Queen of Magic Land, we appeal to you for help. Tears from Weepy Land have contaminated Slapstick Falls. Our tears of joy have turned into tears of sadness. Please restore our humor. Signed, the Citizens of Laughing Land.” 

    I wait for a punch line. 

    None comes. The letter lacks any trace of amusement. 

    Sadly, I knew this day would come. Weepy Land as a next door neighbor to Laughing Land could only end in disaster. Now it’s up to me to set it right. 

    I push through Irony Gate and that’s when I notice the second problem. 

    All the knock knock doors are closed. 

    Laughing Land is usually a minefield of doors. Everywhere, doors pop open and jokes tumble out. Once, a door of bananas opened right beside me. I dodged the bananas but missed the single orange in the bunch. My foot rolled over it, and I nearly fell. Just then another door opened, and a cow lumbered through, interrupting my fall at the last second.

    But now, the doors are sealed. Even the peep holes are dark.

    How can I possibly restore laughter? But a Queen must do her job.

    I continue on the path until I see a chicken staring sadly across the road, unable to cross. He doesn’t even look at me as I walk by. I consider stopping by the Tickle Teacup, Laughing Land’s most popular bar, but the crowd outside looks dazed. Apparently, a guy already walked into it. 

    The Royal Petition rustles in my pocket, reminding me this isn’t a fool’s errand. The Queen must journey to the root of the riddle. 

    That’s when I remember the scroll’s message. I have a feeling I need to go to Slapstick Falls.

    The closer I get, the more off-color my surroundings. Something stinks. I wrinkle my nose. I notice fruit from the Whoopie Tree swinging from a low-hanging branch. Clearly it’s gone sour. The trees have shed their sense of humor.

    Everything feels wrong. I’ve arrived at Slapstick Falls, but I don’t recognize it at first because it doesn’t roar with laughter. It’s more of a sad trickle, like a tear sliding down a cheek. An unusual sound reaches my ear. It’s a sound I’ve never heard in Laughing Land before. 

    That’s when I discover the third problem. 

    Someone is crying.

    Disheartened, I climb down to the plunge pool where a small child sobs into his hands. This is awful. I don’t like seeing anyone cry. But somehow, here in Laughing Land, the child’s sadness is all the more heartbreaking.

    I kneel beside him and rub his back. “Are you okay?” I ask.

    He’s too upset to answer.

    I gaze into the pool. This must be where the tears of Weepy Land leaked into the falls. The water looks strange. It’s clear in places, but murky in others. My throat tightens. Sadness seeps through the air, burrowing into my chest. If I don’t hurry, the gloom will overtake me.

    I edge closer to the water. Maybe I can use my hands to scoop the tears out. The water feels bitter. Sadness is cold and slips through my fingers. I can’t grasp hold of it. 

I want to weep with the child, but a small voice inside reminds me: Queens can do hard things.

    The words steady me. A new thought stirs. I can’t get rid of the tears, but maybe I can dilute them. If I can blend the tears of Weary Land with the tears of laughter, perhaps happiness can have a chance. 

I step into the plunge pool. The water is icy and sharp, but I persist. My hands sting as I stir it, but I keep going, mixing and swirling. My own tears fall into the water, joining the rest. Slowly, something begins to change.

    The chill fades. The water tickles my fingers, my toes, my knees as though it’s blowing raspberries against my skin.

    I can’t help it. I giggle. Then I laugh, full and loud.

    And that’s when I hear another chortle. The child’s face is still streaked with tears, but his eyes are turned up instead of down. “You did it!” he cheers. “You saved Laughing Land!”

    Slapstick Falls roars. A knock-knock door bursts open. Crowds gather, their laughter echoing through the valley. Someone slips on a banana peel and splashes into the pool of at the bottom of the waterfall, sputtering with surprise. Nearby spectators slap their knees in hilarity. 

    It feels like a bubble rises inside me, floating up until I think it might burst.

    The boy grins. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

    “I do,” I say. 

    “It’s joy!” he exclaims. 

    He’s right. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy. 

    “It’s even better than before,” the boy continues. “The tears of Weepy Land were awful, but now it’s like a double rainbow after a rainy day.” He races off to knock on a door before I can answer. 

    Perhaps it wasn’t a disaster to have Weepy Land so close to Laughing Land. Maybe the touch of pain allowed us to experience happiness in a whole new way. 

    “Hey,” I call. “Wait for me!” I take off running, dodging a pile of rubber chickens.

    As I climb back through my bedroom wall later that night, I can still hear laughter ringing in my ears. I pull up my covers and smile.

    Tomorrow, who knows which land will call?

    But tonight, this Queen will dream of double rainbows — proof that laughter and tears share the same sky.