At twelve, Dorian thought of death as something remote and pleasurable; and he thought of rivers at night, running in the dark. There was a dog in the house next door, and Dorian wanted more than anything else that the dog would talk to him and tell him stories about the dog’s previous lives. The truth is that Dorian was itching to write his own story, but he still did not know exactly what he wanted to say. His parents told him that he had been named after the novel The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde. That made him proud of his name and he grew up knowing that he was gonna be a writer.
Dorian loved smelling the pages of the Robin Hood Collection and he was sure that the Sherlock Holmes saga was the best work of literature in the world, despite what his teachers said, and that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was the best writer the world had ever produced. When Dorian read The Lost World, he thought that not only could he devise detective stories, but Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was also able to imagine such fantastic novels with dinosaurs, which meant that he could die in peace knowing that no other writer would ever be nearly as good as him.
What Dorian did not know was that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was already dead. However, one day, Dorian came across Mark Twain, of course. From that moment on, Dorian started to doubt Doyle’s label as “best writer ever” (plus he was also a little disappointed that Sherlock Holmes had started to pack a piece). Mark Twain was definitely something else; like an alien, a crazy old man who knew about the things that children of school age fantasized about better than any other adult.