The Limits of Pleasure
Dorian Grey was bored. Pleasure had its limits, after all. There were only so many attractive women (and men), drugs, and plays one could go to. On the suggestion of his friend, Henry, he had decided to go to the countryside. He was curious to test the limits of his connection to the painting. Would it stop death? He had certainly not felt the effects of age, the ravages of disease, or any kind of physical withdrawal from the times he had quit opiates. He walked through the clearing, enjoying the feel of sunlight on his face and secure in the knowledge that it would not cause him any wrinkles. He had readily taken to the forest. Something about the lack of civilization appealed to him or, at least, the side of him that had grown since meeting Henry. He was far away from the hovel in which he was staying in. Suddenly a series of howls broke through the trees. Wolves. His curiosity was piqued. He decided to see what all the housewives' fuss was about and walked towards the howl, instead of running away. When he came across the pack he was startled by the enormous size and unerring yellow eyes that followed him. Strangely, they did not leap at him right away. Oh, well. As he reached for the wolf, a yelp went out through the pack and they sprang. The wolf sank its teeth into his throat, or at least, it tried. Aside from barely breaking Dorian's skin, the teeth seemed unable to go any further. Suddenly, the weight was lifted off his chest and the entire pack fled as quickly as they attacked. The adrenaline kept him frozen on the spot, breathing in and out heavily. This was the most alive he had felt in years. Perhaps another pursuit was in order. There were noblemen who knew all about exotic sports, after all. The spots were gone the next day and his throat was still the smooth, milky white it always was. It always would be, to, if Dorian had anything to say about it.
Dorian had taken to wandering the woods whenever he needed to leave civilization. It happened after all, and god knows what people would do if they found out what he was. Grey was convinced that he had made some sort of demonic bargain that day with Basil. Ah, well. He was enjoying himself now. The years had begun to fade away at his mind. Immortality was not meant for man after all. He could barely Basil or the actress or her brother. Henry was the memory that truly stuck with him. The corruptor, his words and knowledge the apple from the tree. And like Adam and Eve, Dorian had readily bitten in. He couldn't really say why, though. Life's pleasures had their limits and without Henry there didn't seem to be a point. He was lost without guidance. Alas, Henry was mortal and had never questioned him, even as the man faded before him. The wilderness was his answer. It was fading the last parts of the man he had been. Wilderness like that which was in all men. The memories of Henry wouldn't leave him. And so, Dorian found wolf after wolf, mountain lion after mountain lion and allowed them to sink their teeth in. It was the only way he felt alive. The difference between him and the animals was remarkably thin. Dorian had begun to resolve himself to become the hunter. He lay in wait for the animal that had brought this on. When the wolf sprang, so did he. His fingers closed around its' thick, furred throat. The thrill raced through him again. He slowly pressed harder and harder and he felt the wolf's paws tear into him. He felt grippingly alive even as his own blood dripped to the forest floor. Just as suddenly as the fight had started, it ended. THe body still looked strangely alive. Dorian reached for his hunting knife, after all, no sense in wasting meat or a pelt. And it was a beautiful piece of fur.
This was it, he decided, the solution. And that was the last day Dorian Grey had a human thought.