Sasha's legacy 1. Written by: Sheri Murphy

Chapter thirteen ©

Written by: Sheri Murphy
All rights reserved

                At present time

Drake was thankful for anything he had right now. He finished his pizza and walked the rest of the way down the street. It was getting close to dark.

The clouds were disappearing into the darkness. The sky was being repainted. From a beautiful cerulean blue. To a mixture of magenta and azure. With a little flakes of white where the stars shown through.

The street lights were starting to have that glow. You know, where their half lit, half not.

Traffic he could hear from the Main Street over a few streets seemed to slow down. People were probably at home settled down in front of their television sets. Or tucking their kids into bed. Preparing to turn in for the night. Some might even be preparing a special evening for that perfect someone.

Drake physically shook that thought out of his head. He knew sooner or later he was going to have to bring himself to go there.

He could only imagine how scared his wife would have been.

The only thing that's been eating at him this whole time was the clothing. The body that was halfway on the floor and couch. Was not dressed in the clothing his wife had on.

His wife was just about ready to start work. She was an artist. She worked with paints, pencils, pastels. Anything that could or would bring a picture to life she would use. Their house had been decorated with all kinds of her drawings and paintings. She was in art shows. She was becoming one of the most popular up and coming artists. She would of had on her painting clothes. Which usually consisted of painters pants and a teeshirt.

Drake remembered making fun of her when he walked in and saw her wearing painters pants.

"You think just because your a painter you have to fit the part?" He said in a teasing manner.

"You're funny! No! Actually I like them because I have places to put my tools at." She pointed to a pocket with her brushes sticking out. Then pointed to another where her biggest brush had been hanging from her leg through a loop.

He walked over and grabbed her into his arms and kissed her lips softly.

"You have somewhere in those jeans where I would fit?" He asked.

She, no matter what she wore or how sloppy her clothes got. Never failed to get a reaction from him. She looked beautiful no matter what she wore or how she wore it.

"I look like this and your thinking of sex?" She said smiling.

"No baby! Your thinking of sex. I meant in your pocket. And yes! Your beautiful no matter what you have on. However, on that note. I must be getting ready. I have to meet with an editor.

One last kiss and he disappeared into the changing room. That's the last time he saw his wife.

Something was weird about the body. The body had on a skirt with nylons and black pumps. That's all he could see from where he was standing. What happened to the painters pants? Why wasn't she in her room painting? She should have been knee high in colors by then. Her face would have looked like a rainbow was born on her skin. Her clothes would have been soiled completely. She used to tell him a painter ain't really a painter until they wear their work.