A random alternate ending to "The picture of Dorian Gray" I wanted to write

Please, before reading, keep in mind I made this up right on the spot, so its proabably gonna have some flaws:

Dorian laughed at himself as he was the painting, still showing the ugly old man, loyal representation of his evil and putrid sould he saw hours ago. So it seemed there was no way of turning back now, but who was there left to blame? Basil was dead, the only woman he had ever loved was long dead, and his so called "friend" had left him alone to...was it his fault? No, it couldnt be, such a beautiful man couldnt be blamed of anything....the real fault rested upon Lord Henry`s arms, he was the one to blame, he was the who got Dorian to that, he was the man who he blindly worshipped seeing in him a god when Lord Henry was actually a devil.....yes, he was the one to blame, and the one Dorian had to kill to get released of that curse hidden like a blessing.
Packing a long knife, Doran went to Henry`s house, knowing he would receive him with arms wide open. The bell rang, the door opened, the Lord greeted Dorian with a "My beautiful Harry" and then, the knife entered, the blood ran down the blade, the body of Dorian`s ex-best friend quickly fell to his feet. There was no scream, there was no sound, the death was quick, and the crime was perfect...no one would suspect of him.

Going back home, with the body cutten into pieces and deep into a lake, Dorian proceeded to the room where he kept the portrait with the same knife he used to kill Lord Henry, opened the curtains and inmediatly fell to the ground. The picture was no longer showing him or anyone related to him, now, instead, he could see the very image of the Evil incaranated, the Devil, holding his head on his hand in a lake of fire, with the sight of countless evil souls all being punished by their crimes. Dorian`s fate was now sealed, his soul was condemened to the eternal fire, and his body, the very thing he made the deal for, would slowly wither into the repugnant man the painting showed before....now it was Dorian`s time to pay for his sins

TheRealPikachu was doing it wrong. It was 666


I hope you can add more to the story!

Evil wrote:

TheRealPikachu was doing it wrong. It was 666


I hope you can add more to the story!

are you talking about that guy who flamed me in his introduction?

oh and gir, i like your ending.

Thanks Pikachu, I really like writing, its the only artistic thing I consider myself to have some talent, and Im looking for a place tot take classes....I really do hope I can improve, but Im quite happy with my final result

Gir wrote:

Thanks Pikachu, I really like writing, its the only artistic thing I consider myself to have some talent, and Im looking for a place tot take classes....I really do hope I can improve, but Im quite happy with my final result

well, i don't see where you need improvement.
and I love writing, well, poetry to be exact.
if you want i could tell you one of mine.

Sure, by has to be, by far, The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe, what about yours?:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
Lenore?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
" 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,---
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never---nevermore."

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath
Sent thee respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore---
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted---nevermore!

well it's not from someone, i wrote it.
It was when i was in 9th grade, and i was crazy in love with a girl, not goona go into detail.
Anyway here goes:


Untouchable:
The feeling is mutual,
this we both know.
We are two prisoners locked in a dungeon,
the chains binding us from ever being together.
Only she can break the chains,
but, at a great personal loss.
Even if she breaks out,
I'm not sure that she will set me free...


What do you think?