HOLDING ON
HOLDING ON BY DONAGH O’MALLEY
A successful artist living in New York visits his parents in Ireland for what may be the last time, following an HIV diagnosis. Without a cure in sight, will his parents rise to care for their ailing son, or yield to stigma? The judges described Holding On as ‘sensitive and soulful’ and ‘poignant’.
You can read an extract from the story below.
DONAGH O’MALLEY
Donagh O’Malley is a Dublin-based writer with a background in music licensing. After living in New York and London, he returned to Ireland, where he is raising his young son. ‘Holding On’ is his debut short story.
Holding On
He couldn’t fault the light. It was bright and clear through the fanlight over the door. The early December sunshine cast a pale glow over the hallway mirror. It was him all right, looking back at himself. For months now, his reflection had deteriorated to the point where he had to invent stories to make sense of what was happening. His current favourite was the ‘bad cake’ parallel, since he considered his face looked like something that had been misbaked. Too flaky here, too saggy there, hollowed completely in various spots.
As his lesions advanced, the analogy was becoming clearer. Vivid purple splotches had made their way north, and he now had two on his face: one on his left temple, and one on his right cheek. In this latest indignity, he no longer had a good side for photographs. Not that anyone was taking any. He looked like a bad plum torte, he thought to himself, intrigued by the comparison. The plumes of thrush that grew from his mouth could be the frosting.
He remembered some years before, a different mirror, though a similar confection. Marinating in his mother’s stolen PanStik concealer, desperately trying to hide his rampant teenage acne, but just making it more obvious. On seeing him, his mother had screamed that she didn’t want anyone to think he was a faggot, which—according to her—was the worst thing anyone could say about anyone.
He wondered how she would react when she saw him now? Would she come full circle, discreetly passing him her compact, motioning at his tumours? His parents were due for lunch in around an hour’s time. He had already prepared something simple, knowing that the food ultimately was not going to be the focus for today.
The light had extended to glint on the frames of two of his early photographs which hung above the mantelpiece. Taken backstage at McGonagles – what was it, six years ago – capturing friends who were in bands and who were now kind of famous. He supposed he was a little bit too, now.
He surveyed the rooms fully, trying to imagine things through his parents’ eyes, as this would be their first time there, since he had returned to Ireland. A vase of freesias on the hall table would be Loud Gay on their register. They had been suggested by his friend Fabien, who had helped him plan for today. He said they cheered even the dreariest lunch party up. His father may like the draughtsman’s board, which had been repurposed as the dining table. That now actually registered more as Suspect Gay, he reflected.
The house was still. He missed his cat, Arthur, who had been rehomed on doctor’s orders since no one wanted to add toxoplasmosis to his list. He had casually mentioned his doctor to his parents in his last two phone calls to try to start threading the needle for what he was about to tell them, though he had also lied and said there was nothing to worry about.
Other shortlisted stories:
The Brunel Prize Winner
Rowan is a poet and tree surgeon living in East London. His work has recently been featured in 14 Magazine and Acumen. His poem ‘Wild Ghazal’ won second prize in the Shelley Memorial Project’s 2025 competition. He is currently working on a new pamphlet of compromised, radical ecopoems.
