Author's Note: I had to write this for my Ap English 12 class. My teacher wanted a "creative" piece of writing on a book as well as a traditional on another book, so i did the "creative" as a fanfic for Dorian Gray. I hadn't realized that such a piece of writing on a book considered a classic is referred to as a "pastiche" and can be published and profit from. Nice. This is a fanfic analyzing Basil and Dorian's relationship. Sonfic, using the lyrics from the song You Have Killed Me, by Morrissey.
You Have Killed Me
Basil Hallward stood staring at the boy in front of him. Boy. It didn't seem right to use that word. His age was very close to that of Basil, but his appearance showed otherwise. He had the face of a male just shy of twenty, yet his time on this earth was just below twice that amount. Although there was no difference between the appearance of the person Basil once knew and the appearance of the person standing in front of him, he could see the change that had taken place in the years they were not together.
They had not seen each other in so long, let alone carried a conversation with each other. It hurt Basil more than he could show to Dorian. He loved him, once. He even tried to tell him how much he loved him. He tried explaining his feelings to him, a long time ago.
"I was dominated, soul, brain, and power by you…I worshipped you."
Basil remembered his words as if he had just spoken them. He had been dominated by Dorian, ever since they met. He reveled in the knowledge that Dorian was his friend and his friend only—his dirty little secret. It had consumed him and taken control over everything he did. In his social gatherings, in his choice in music, and in his art.
That infamous portrait was none like Basil had ever done. Although the subject was none other than the young Dorian Gray, the painting personified Basil's feelings and embodied every secret that Basil had. That picture was a portal into the private thoughts of Basil Hallward, and the subject of the painting did not care in the slightest. None of that mattered to Dorian. He felt nothing for Basil—that was clear. He was not bothered by his friend's overwhelming feelings for him. He was not bothered that he had been placed on a pedestal those beginning months of their relationship.
Pasolini is me
'Accattone' you'll be
I entered nothing and nothing entered me
'Til you came with the key
And you did your best but
Things were good with them, at first. Dorian knew how to conduct himself in society, and Basil was thrilled to have him in his life. But after Lord Henry met Dorian the day he finished the painting, nothing was the same. Dorian started spending more time with Harry than with him. He was pushed aside for another, dandier fellow. And that was what pained Basil the most.
As I live and breathe
You have killed me
You have killed me
Yes I walk around somehow
But you have killed me
You have killed me
Piazza Cavour, what's my life for?
It was true that Dorian still visited Basil occasionally. The three of them were seen out together sometimes—Lord Henry, Dorian, and Basil. But Basil knew Lord Henry had much more influence over Dorian than he ever would. And so they grew further and further apart. The visitations came less and less. Especially after Sybil's death.
Visconti is me
Magnani you'll never be
I entered nothing and nothing entered me
'Til you came with the key
And you did your best but
Basil went to see him the day they learned of Sybil Vane's suicide. Dorian was no different than he was before. The sudden death of his love did not seem to affect him in the slightest. Basil admitted his love for Dorian that morning, and that did not affect him either. Dorian did not care about the little things like an unusual attraction or a profession of love. He only cared about what Lord Henry cared about, and was only affected by things that Lord Henry was affected by.
Dorian stopped conversing with Basil after that. Eventually they did not see each other at all. Basil thought he saw Dorian at times throughout the eighteen years they were apart. He would see a glimpse of him on the street, or hear his voice at a dinner party, or catch his eye across the opera balcony. But no conversation was held. Not even an acknowledgement of each other's existence.
As I live and breathe
You have killed me
You have killed me
Yes, I walk around somehow
But you have killed me
You have killed me
Who am I that I come to be here...?
Basil stood starting at the boy in front of him. Neither of them had said anything since they had entered the old study at the top of the house. There was so much he had wanted to say—so much he needed to say to him. But as hard as he tried, he could not find the words to express himself. He wondered how long they were going to stand there in silence, just staring at each other. He wondered who would be the first to speak. He wondered what, if anything, Dorian would show him. He wondered if he was going to see the painting he had finished so many years ago. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dorian spoke.
"So you think that it is only God who sees the soul, Basil? Draw that curtain back, and you will see mine."
Basil could sense that underneath the curtain lay his artwork. Although he longed to see his masterpiece after all this time, he could not bring himself to do it. He could not find it in himself to perform the simple task his companion demanded from him.
"You won't? Then I must do it myself."
Dorian pulled the curtain back from the painting, and Basil could only feel and see one thing—terror.
As I live and breathe
You have killed me
You have killed me
Yes I walk around somehow
But you have killed me
You have killed me
He could not believe his eyes. The grotesque image staring back at him was not the angelic portrait he had painted in acrylics. It couldn't be. It was impossible. It took him several minutes to realize that it was, in fact, his work. He tried making sense of it out loud, but Dorian stated that he could not make sense of it himself.
It was at that moment that Basil realized he could forgive Dorian for almost everything. He could forgive him for becoming better friends with Lord Henry than with him. He could forgive him for his vanity and his shallowness. He could forgive him for his abandonment and his coldness. He could forgive him for the awful things he had said to him in times of frustration and anger. He could forgive him for everything he had ever done against him, because he still loved him, and he always would.
And there is no point saying this again
there is no point saying this again
But I forgive you, I forgive you
Always I do forgive you.
Dorian came up behind Basil then, and the last thing Basil felt was the searing sharp pain of a cool metal blade against the back of his ear. There was a flash of red, then a larger pool of light. Then everything was dark.