April 2026: The Remaining Embers – Shannen Galivan
The Remaining Embers
“It’s quite cold in here, isn’t it?”
Greta did not utter a response; a lip liner pencil rested between her teeth. She smiled emphatically and rolled her eyes, hoping to convey agreement and a shared discomfort.
Yes! Like an ice box. Always is.
She lightly tapped a brush. Loose rouge drifted from it. A sweetly scented dust settled. She pulled the liner from her mouth, glancing at the tip on it.
“It can be a tough room to work in, Margaret.”
The old woman nodded, sympathetically.
The reference photo sat nearby in a thick, gold frame. Greta paused to absorb it; a black-and-white portrait. In it, Margaret was candid. Her fading blue eyes did not look into the camera and her mouth was set open mid-laugh. Soft, blow-waved hair framed her. A peachy shade dressed her lips, now thinned with age.
“It’s certainly a lovely look we’re recreating, Margaret.”
The old woman smiled with her eyes, and nodded wistfully. “My husband and I renewed our vows that day. Sixty three years of love.”
Margaret was the perfect canvas. She sat perfectly still. She did not interrupt the artistry, as it flowed from brushes and into the soft creases and folds of her face. A creamy foundation was swept across the arches and contours of her. It warmed her skin, as if it were the after-glow of a few champagnes.
When the artist in her was satiated, Greta patted Margaret’s hand. It was done.
“Thank you, love.” She settled back, closing her eyes as a smile burgeoned across her face. Greta wondered if she’d sleep now. Brushes and spoolies were gathered in silence. The closure of the heavy, black beauty case was the only sound to perforate it. Margaret opened her eyes once more, outstretching her palm as it came to rest on Greta’s cheek; her cold hand warming against the touch of her face. It was a welcome reprieve from the relentless cold of the air conditioning, set low.
‘We will cross paths again someday. I am sure of it,’ she soothed. ‘Bye for now, pet.. Greta smiled against hot tears. In all of her years on the job, she had never developed a resistance against the farewells. As she shut the lights, the room descended into a soft darkness but the outline of Margaret remained. She looked peaceful. Ethereal. Angelic.
The funeral parlour was quieted with condolences and whispers of grief. An elderly man, seated at the front, held a photo against his chest. A beautiful black-and-white photo in a gold frame. Service booklets rested in the hands of mourners, bearing glimmers of the woman that was; one who played Bob Dylan cassettes and rocked her grandchildren to the rhythm. One who never shared the secret recipe for her sponge cake, which would now pass from this lifetime with her. A woman who had told her husband to look for her in the campfires they loved; a flame that had been extinguished, but whose embers would remain.
Shannen Galivan
Right Left Write’s April prompt was Fire and Ice New prompts are announced monthly February-November in QWC’s Pen & Pixel email newsletter.
Find out more about Right Left Write at www.queenslandwriters.org.au/rightleftwrite.
Right Left Write’s April prompt was Fire and Ice.