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The Trauma Queen
by Melissa R. Mendelson

Winter had arrived early, and I was not happy about it. The world was dying before I could even enjoy it, and now, there was hardly anything left. At least, for me.

I lit the black candle in the living room window and ran my scarred hand over the flame. One single tear raced down my face. This was the way to call her, the Trauma Queen, and once she was called, you had to answer. Or her vengeance would be a thousand times worse than the scars you carry or fear to carry.

She came just as the night snow began. Her presence seemed warm despite the chill, and her hands were placed in the middle of her chest almost as if in mourning. Her face was covered in a beautiful, intricate, decorated mask. No one had ever seen her face, or so the legend goes. And I realized that her feet were bare.

“May I come in?” Her voice was clear as day, and her black robe reminded me of death. But I had died a long time ago. “Yes?”

“Please.” I opened the door for her. “Won’t you come in?”

Her feet touched down on the poor excuse for a mat, snow kissing her pale flesh. She didn’t seem to notice, or maybe it was all the pain that she carried. Legend had it that she carried the pain of the lost and the survivors. Did she carry my pain? “Yes,” and her hazel eyes met mine. “I know your pain very well. Is that why you called me here? Tonight? This night?”

I knew what she was referring to. “Yes,” I said and closed the door behind her.

She made her way into the living room as if she already belonged here. She kissed the flame, and for a moment, it settled on her lips before turning into smoke.

“Do I need to give the reason why?”

She shook her head as she sat on the couch, looking like a porcelain doll. “I know the why, but are you sure? Once you do this, you can never return. Unless another such as yourself were to call you.”

“How long has it been since you returned?” I sat on the loveseat nearby.

“Thirty years.” It was hard to tell what emotion was there, but something was there. “I don’t regret my choice, but you have to understand. The pain is great, and it is only getting worse.” She locked her hazel eyes with mine. “Yes,” she said. “The world is dying.”

“So, would you rather stay away and exist as you are?”

“That is a question that you must ask yourself.” She never blinked. “I am waiting.” She slowly nodded. “But you already decided before you lit the candle.”

“Yes,” I said. “I have decided.”

“Is this the mark that you want to leave on the world?”

I thought about that, but I haven’t felt my heart in a long time. It surprised me to feel a twitch now. “Yes,” I said.

“But the world will not know you or ever know you.”

“Yes,” and my heart twitched again. “Let me do this. Let me do this for you. You’ve been in the void for far too long.”

“What if I don’t want to return?” Her words surprised me. “It’s so much worse now, and I fear that the end might be coming for all of us.”

“It can’t end this way,” I said.

“Can’t it?”

“No, I refuse to believe that. There has to be some, if not a few that will hold onto how things should’ve been, how people should’ve been, and not the primality that exists within us.”

“But we are animals,” she said.

“Not all of us,” I replied.

She nodded, and a silence fell around the room. It was almost like sitting with a close friend as she contemplated the weight of the world that broke her shoulders.

“Are you ready?”

I stood up and approached her. “Tell me what needs to be done,” I said.

“Come closer.” She rose softly like a gentle wind and placed her pale hands over her beautiful, intricate, decorated mask. “No one must ever, ever see your face. Until the day that you are called. Do you understand?” She took the mask off and handed it over to me, but she refused to show me her face. “Put the mask on,” she said.

“That’s it? What happens when I do?”

“You will see.” She still kept her face turned away from me.

I realized that the mask was heavier than it looked. As it moved closer to my face, I heard their screams, felt their pain. So much pain, and their screams were deafening. I hesitated, but no, I wanted this. I put the mask on my face.

She turned toward me, and her face was mine with deep scars running over each cheek. Her eyes were brown, and mine were hazel. She was dressed as I was, and I was dressed as she was.

“What do I do now?” I asked.

“You go outside and stay with the snow.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” She smiled softly. “I will live your life.” She walked me to the door, touching me on the arm, and her touch reminded me of my mother. “Even if you think that you are alone, you are not.”

“I know.” I was surprised that my emotions were gone, drowned out by those that I felt, but they needed me to feel this, feel them. After all, I was the Trauma Queen.

 

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Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

About Author Melissa R. Mendelson:

Melissa R. Mendelson is a horror, science-fiction and dystopian author and poet.  She has two publications with Wild Ink Publishing.  One is a prose poetry collection, This Will Remain With Us, and the other is a short story collection, Stories Written On Covid Walls.  She also self-published a sci-fi novella, Waken and a small short story collection, Name’s Keeper.

If you’d like to learn more about Melissa, you can visit her accounts here: www.MelissaMendelson.com