Her home was her village. A very humble town built at the countryside.
She loved everything about it. The red sand, the wet smell of rain hitting the soil. The classic sounds of birds and chicken stamping their webbed feet on wet soil.
She loved it. Everything.
She was born to be a farmer's daughter, but that wasn't all. She was born to be a missionary's child.
As crazy as it sounds, she loved to be a missionary rather than a farmer.
She had always admired how her father would gather his troops and share the word of Light from land to land. To her, it was divine. Like an adventure.
"When will it be my turn to follow dad?" She asked her mother, one day.
"Not now, you're only eight. When it's time, you won't be restricted." Her mother had replied as she grated palm kernel gotten from the wooden tree.
It was not up to months after, when her mother caught the 'flu' and died simultaneously of it.
It not only crushed her heart, but the heart of her father who loved her very much.
"Goodbye Josephine." He had say, as he kissed her forehead in the local coffin she was placed in. It was a period of sadness.
Josephine had not just been good to her family, but to the whole village. She had the heart of an empath.
It was almost an abomination for an illness like bird flu to take the life of such a precious gem.
Seven years rolled by, and she had clocked fifteen. Ever so hopeful of her mother's firm statement, "When it's time, you won't restricted."
She dropped the leaves she was peeling and closed her eyes as if to take in what the universe had planned for her.
She took a loud amount of air into her nostrils, simultaneously breathing it out from her mouth.
"I miss you mum." She sighed.
Bang!
The door to the backyard opened firmly. It was her brother.
"Priscilla, I don't what you're cooking. But whatever it is, it smells like heaven!" George, Priscilla's elder brother remarked.
George was tall and skinny. Not so masculine but he had very beautiful eyes. If there was one stand-out feature they had, then it was their eyes. Their mother's gene had blessed them with it.
The height would be complemented to their father.
"This is the first time you're praising my cooking." She replied, rising up from the stool.
His face was beaming with light. He looked very excited.
But then, it was always the usual feeling he came with ever since he started accompanying dad to his missionary journeys.
"When did you arrive?" She asked.
"Not long ago." He said as he grabbed a stool from the side and took a seat.
"How was it?" Priscilla asked.
"It was amazing!"
"It's always amazing" She smiled, gently opening the steaming pot to check the situation of the stew she was cooking.
"Wow Priscilla! You're really on your 'A game' today." George said.
"And why is that?" She queried.
"That stew smells jut like mum's!" He complemented, again.
"Well, I'm not a bastard you know." She grinned as she let out her stirring spoon from the pot and placed some sauce in her mouth for taste.
"Wanna check?" She asked George.
He laid out his palms as little drops of stew was dropped on it. There was an obvious gloom illuminating from his down set eyes.
"I miss her, Prissy." He said.
"I miss her too. She was the best." Prissy affirmed his gloomy feelings.
George's gloomy eyes suddenly turned lit as he raised his bowing head up to look at his little sister, Prissy.
She had the features of their mum. She was like a walking mirror of their mother.
Was it the eyes? Or the pout lips? Or the shiny dark hair.
She also borrowed the stature of mum. Being slender but with a touch of elegance.
The only feature they placed aside was mum's short stature as they thrived in height.
"You are as beautiful as she was. Mum would be proud of the kind of woman you're becoming." He quickly stated.
Priscilla tried forcing the burning tears in. She didn't want to get all emotional and wet the stew with her salty tears.
"Food's ready, here you go." She said as she placed the food in the plate and served her brother who was famished.
"I know dad misses her too." She said.
"He talks about her everyday during his journeys." George testified.
Priscilla let out a brief sigh, and appreciated for a minute how amazing and strong their dad is.
"Dad's amazing." She let her thought burst open.
"He is." George affirmed, mouth full with sauce.
"And strong." She said, again.
George nodded as to affirm again.
"With a good heart."
"Very good. So intentional on spreading light to others." George managed to say, swallowing the already grinded food in his mouth.
"Speaking of dad? Where is he?"
YOU ARE READING
THE MISSIONARY
Adventure"Have you heard that blood is thicker than water? Well, in this story, water is thicker than blood."
