Jovie Reign

My mama always said that reading is a tunnel to the imagination, a way to escape the world through your thoughts. I begin to feel the warmth of the golden hour sun on my face and smell the field of daffodils. I begin to smile as I see Mama run through the fields with that mischievous look on her face, that bloody daft straw hat with her hair over her white dress. I feel a sense of peace, and then I’m Immediately brought back down to Earth as I see her scream and the blood soaks through her dress. It's so bittersweet, that my favourite memory of Mama, is obliterated in seconds as it leads to the worst moment of my life. It only gets, worse from there, well I don’t know how it could get any worse but it sure as hell doesn’t get any better. So here I am, sitting in the bunker, looking like an orphan from the 30's. I guess I am an orphan now but I can't fathom how it got this bad. I wipe the dirt from my face and pull the blanket further up my shoulders. The wind is really strong tonight and my botched job curtains don't seem to be holding well. The bunker is an old war bunker, made from bricks. It has a couple of gaps which were used as the peepholes in a war. There’s probably a better name than ‘peepholes' but I missed that history class. I miss a lot of school and when I do show up, people pity me so I walk back out again. Anyway, I found some plastic sheeting and nailed it across the peepholes to stop the draft. It’s still freezing, but at least it shelters me from the wind. Well, it does when it stays in place. The floor is dirty, but some parts are worse than others. There’s the swept-over dry dirt which is all over and then there’s the gunky dirt which I try to avoid. I have loads of blankets though. There’s a whole variety of blankets made from different fabrics in a whole range of colours. If Mama was here then she would tell me there was ‘enough to open my shop’. Mama isn’t here though and instead of being smothered by her helicopter parenting, I smother myself with blankets so that I don’t freeze to death. It’s not all bad though. I have a little camping stove, and I even moved an old sideboard in there which I had found at the end of someone’s driveway. I do seem to be stronger than most, okay, I don't seem to be. For some reason, I am incredibly strong. I’m tiny, possibly malnourished and I don’t even know what the inside of a gym looks like. I don’t eat spinach, or know why anybody would for that matter. All I know is that I am strong, pretty fast and could carry that sideboard all by myself. Did a leg fall off as I scraped it across the floor? Maybe, maybe not. is there now a bean can in replacement of said sideboard leg? Perhaps, but this little piece of furniture makes me feel like I’m home. I have somewhere to keep my school uniform for the days I go in, a couple of outfits, soap, a toothbrush and my fine dining tableware placed neatly on top. By ‘fine dining’, what I actually mean is my tin camping mug and mess tin (little rectangular tin with a handle I use as a bowl). Next to those I have a golden photo frame, containing the most beautiful photo of Mama. She’s sitting on the beach, building a sandcastle with me. The sun is glaring into her eyes as she squints at the camera with a huge smile across her face. She always looked so happy. It’s my fault she doesn’t look like that anymore. She’s dead because of me. They were coming for me. They were coming for me because I can lift sideboards on my own and I win every school sports day. She’s gone and now I have to work out what the secret was. Why do I have to be Millie in public instead of Jovie? I assumed it was because my parents regretted their decision to call me such a unique name, whilst living in a village where no one ever leaves and everyone has basic British names, which resemble one of their rich grandparents. We were already outcasts. We were a single-parent family, although they didn’t see us as an actual family as it was just the two of us. Every school play they needed to do four times so that they accommodate every grandparent. Auntie and even the weird uncles. I think I’m supposed to say the say ‘the type’, everyone has one. Well, I don’t, not because I have a cool one instead, but because I just don’t have an uncle at all. I don’t have an Aunt, I don’t have grandparents or siblings. Just her. Mama and me. Now it’s just me. Jovie Reign, trying to keep our family name going. Will I ever be able to use it or will I need to use Millie Baker? It just sounds blergh. It’s basic and not me at all.