The Picture of Dorian Gray

     There was once a rosy-cheeked, ivory skinned boy with hair that looked as though it were carved out of gold. He radiated not only an aura of beauty, but one of innocence as well; only pure thoughts could wander their way into his mind. His mere presence could calm tense company. His sweet voice was capable of taming all demonic beasts. All evil would halt in his, Dorian Gray's, path! All excluding Lord Henry and then, eventually, Dorian himself.
    Dorian was lured into a horrible metamorphoses by Lord Henry's cynicism and intellectuality. Hypnotized by Lord Henry's ideas of how life should be taken advantage of, Dorian was lead into a trap. He became aware how pulchritudinous he was and started to dwell in his beauty and wealth. Vanity is the thing most capable of tearing apart an angelic being. It allows a person to become immortal through their own eyes. Old friends become hideous burdens and matinées are suddenly held higher than a human life. Why did Dorian have to fall victim to such a cruel, long death? The slow and repetitive stabs to his soul?
       I allowed myself to fall for Dorian's facade constructed of his alluring beauty. But I had done so only because I longed so hopelessly for what Dorian once was. For his flushing cheeks and untroubled smile. The Dorian found in the portrait that Basil had painted for him. A portrait that aged instead of Dorian, who kept the looks of a lad into late adulthood. This portrait though, as days and years went by, did not age in the way a person would, but it depicted the soul of Dorian Gray. Blood ran through the hands of the Dorian in the painting, proof of the night Basil had been murdered by Dorian. A twisted grin appeared on its face when Dorian drove his young fiancée into suicide. The painting became disgusting, nauseating to look at. A repulsing monster lay comfortably in the heart of Dorian Gray!
     He'd acted gullible, falling for each compliment that Lord Henry engulfed him in, and agreeing to desert Basil, who'd once been his closest friend. It was heartbreaking (a word that I barely ever use). While reading the novel, tears welled in my eyes and periodic cries of 'Oh! My Dorian dear!' were most likely heard by my family as I grieved over the deterioration of Dorian Gray's soul.
     On the night that Dorian attempted to destroy the painting that mocked his very existence, the depiction of Dorian's soul won yet again by crushing Dorian under its weight. The dead body was not that of a beautiful creature, but was the body of the monster that had stayed hidden in Dorian's portrait: bloated, drenched in blood, and still wearing a grin on its face. Gray's soul was aware of its victory of its carriers mind. But, in the painting, stood the boy that Dorian once was, pale skinned and with cheeks that seemed to be lit on fire.