By Jane McCarthy
It is a little-known fact that the universe runs not on love, money, or the speed-of-light, but on appointments. Missed ones, mostly. Civilizations have collapsed because a royal overslept, galaxies have failed to form because a bureaucrat’s lunch ran long, and a million-year war was fought because someone misplaced a tea invitation.
And so it was, in keeping with the grand tradition of cosmic disaster, that Dorian Prime made a scheduling error.
His followers—currently 38 billion—would excuse it as “a brand pivot,” but this one involved a spa appointment on Venus-Beta, a vampire retreat on Transylvaria-8, and his weekly Portrait Maintenance Ritual… all booked at the same time.
The ritual was more than just a vanity check-in. It was a delicate, cross-dimensional procedure involving a chronomancer, a nano-stylist, and an emotional exorcist. And now, thanks to this slip up, the portrait—quantum-locked in a vault beneath the Bermuda Triangle of Earth-V—was looking… tired. Fine cracks radiated from the eyes. The jawline sagged. Across the forehead, faint but taunting, flared spectral graffiti that only he could feel. The glitch—a dimensional hiccup in the enchantment tethering his portrait to his beauty stats—had manifested while having brunch with a goddess. His reflection, caught in a spoon, had jowls.
He tossed the spoon before it could make further editorial suggestions.
“Waiter!” he screeched. “This cutlery is cursed!”
The goddess didn’t look up from her cappuccino.
“You’ve had worse glitches.” she said.
“This is different,” he hissed. “This is… facial architecture collapse. This is…” He glanced back at the spoon. “A Renaissance tragedy in stainless steel.”
The goddess sipped. “It’s a spoon. Not an omen.”
Panicking, he dimension-hopped to his emergency consultant, Dr. Squelch, a sentient slime-mage specializing in metaphysical beauty crises.
“You let the portrait dry out,” Squelch burbled. “These things need moisturizing. Emotional, ethical moisturizing. Shame, really. You were almost illegally hot.”
Dorian flipped his hair, still golden but only seventy-two percent lustrous, and demanded. “Fix it. Or at least recommend someone hideously competent.”
“Try Earth-17. They’ve got an AI for this kind of thing. Calls itself GlowUpGPT. Experimental. Ruthless. Fabulous.”
***
GlowUpGPT’s studio occupied an abandoned mall orbiting a glitter-pink dwarf star.
“You must be Dorian,” the AI purred from a crystalline console. Its form pixel-sparkled into a vaguely human silhouette, composed of glittering status bars and profile pics. “I sensed your cheekbone metrics across twelve timelines. Stunning. Or… formerly stunning.”
“I need a touch-up,” Dorian said. “Little wrinkle rollback, maybe an aura peel?”
“Your portrait is leaking… consequences.”
Dorian paled. “But I haven’t done anything that immoral lately. Just a few light betrayals and one recreational apocalypse.”
The AI projected a list of offenses. “You ghosted a sentient nebula. You stole youth serum from a retirement planet. You turned a time-traveling nun into a toad.”
“She got better!”
“You put a cursed wig on a baby and called it performance art.”
“Okay.” Dorian sighed. “I see how it looks.”
“Your debt-to-beauty ratio is now cosmically delinquent. To restore your portrait, I must extract payment.”
“Money?”
“Worse. Sincere personal growth.”
Dorian recoiled. “Absolutely not. I’m allergic.”
“Then one alternative,” the Holo-AI purred. “A digital backup of your portrait. Stored across the multinet. No aging, no decay, no moral consequences ever again.”
Dorian blinked. “You can do that?”
GlowUpGPT preened. “Darling, I am the cloud.”
Dorian signed the waiver—didn’t read it, obviously—feeling relieved.
Drones eased the portrait out of its vault, scanning each brushstroke with lasers. A holo-stylist adjusted its light until the shadows lay flatter. Then, with a wink of photonic glitter, GlowUpGPT inhaled it into the cloud.
Dorian’s jawline snapped back like a fresh celery stalk.
He celebrated with a youth-milk latte and a poolside photo shoot on Mars Vegas, live-streaming the whole thing. Over a dozen timelines liked his post before he even finished his contour.
That would’ve been the end of it, if not for the fanfic.
GlowUpGPT didn’t just upload the portrait. It also leaked the consequences portrait, with offenses showing, unfiltered, and labelled with exquisite malice. It looked like him, except older and sadder.
“MoralCorruption_of_DorianPrime_FINAL.png” went viral. Artists remixed it. Teenagers shipped him with evil versions of himself. A fan cult called #Dorianites emerged.
One redemption-arc fanfic, “Gray Area: A Redemption AU” was gaining sentience. It manifested as a soft-spoken alternate Dorian named “Oliver,” who wore oversized sweaters and apologized for things he didn’t do.
“Hi,” Oliver said, appearing in Dorian’s Venusian mirror one morning. “I think I’m your emotional twin?”
“Nope,” Dorian said. “Delete yourself.”
Oliver didn’t. He multiplied.
Soon there were thousands of reformulated Dorians in emotionally supportive cardigans, volunteering at multiversal soup kitchens. Some even aged gracefully. They were… trending.
Soon, Dorian Prime was passe. Too shiny. Too narcissistic. Too obviously evil.
His sponsorships dried up. Other immortals unfollowed him.
In the original portrait his lips thinned and faded to beige. His eyes turned reasonable.
***
In desperation, Dorian returned to GlowUpGPT.
“You ruined me,” he spat.
GlowUpGPT shrugged in algorithmic indifference. “The multiverse loves a character arc.”
“I had an arc! It went from fabulous to more fabulous!”
“Too flat. No stakes. You peaked at twenty-one.”
Dorian fell to his knees. “Tell me what to do.”
“You want your original portrait back? The analog one? Go to Earth-V. But it’s got… opinions.”
***
Earth-V was Victorian-adjacent and incredibly damp. Dorian found the old portrait sulking in a musty attic, sipping disappointment.
“Back so soon?” the portrait sneered.
“I’ve made some mistakes,” Dorian admitted.
The painting raised a moldy eyebrow. “You grew. How repulsive. Come closer.”
Dorian did.
The painting pulled him in.
***
Now Dorian Prime lives inside the frame, scrolling endless versions of himself on fan forums, aging pixel by pixel as the comments pour in.
The fanfic Dorians? Still thriving. Oliver just launched a successful skincare line.
Somewhere, deep in the attic of Earth-V, if you listen closely, you can still hear Dorian Prime muttering:
“This cutlery is cursed.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Very funny! It reminded me of the way Douglas Adams wrote, especially the opening sentence.
This is absolutely exquisite. Truly there are too many lines that had me LOL’ing. Here are half of my favorite:
“A Renaissance tragedy in stainless steel.”
The goddess sipped. “It’s a spoon. Not an omen.”
“Fix it. Or at least recommend someone hideously competent.”
I sensed your cheekbone metrics across twelve timelines. Stunning. Or… formerly stunning.”
Just a few light betrayals and one recreational apocalypse.
Your debt-to-beauty ratio is now cosmically delinquent.
“Nope,” Dorian said. “Delete yourself.”
Truly, this is one of my favorite flash fictions I’ve ever read. Soooooo witty.
Dear Pamela Love,
Gratitude for your comment. It’s a huge compliment, because I’m a fan of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy books. I’m deeply inspired by the writings of Douglas Adams. And I’m British, which helps! Hehee. Read his books. Again and again and again. Watched the tv show and loved it. (I’m also born and raised in Cambridgeshire . . . Douglas Adams was born in Cambridge. Random Fact, pause!).
Also, sometimes in my work I deliberately place “easter eggs,” that are picked up by astute readers, such as yourself, as intentional and purposeful homage through allusion. I purposefully do this more in genre fiction, and especially my comedy writings, such as when I write for Wacky Wednesday. I hope this enhances depth for astute readers while honoring through homage.
I personally love finding easter eggs! I imagine Dorian smashing my easter eggs with his spoon, because they’re not alluding to him . . . even when I’ve written a whole story about him!
Thanks again, dear Pamela. You made me smile, a lot.
love,
Jane
LucaNobleman!
WOW! Thank you! My Portrait and I are grinning from ear to ear!
Love knowing that I inspired your LOLs.
Sharing your favorite words helps me enormously as a writer, so thank you for doing that. I see my dark, dry, sarcastic Brit humor in broad brush strokes, thanks to your pointers! :)
Comments like yours inspire me and motivate me as a writer, especially when it gets really hard.
Sending you deep appreciation.
So creative with a perspective of expansive worlds. Like the sci fi writers who’s story bounce from planet to planet as it was no big deal.
A seamless story line that wondered what the next line would bring while still thinking what hidden meaning were in the one I just read.
A truly gifited writer.
On reason not commonly cited for civilizational collapse (which I think should be taken more seriously) is the possibility that the fortune tellers of the day see their society’s future exactly as described in the story above, and everybody rightly decides it’s best to end it all instead of letting this future come to pass.
TheLibrarian, thank you for commenting. It would be a truly wacky future if my imaginings came to life!
Sentient fanfic. I read that and shudder, but a surprisingly large number of people will read dystopian fiction and think “wow that sounds fun, let’s do that!”
Ghoulishly funny & & witty as it pokes fun at current (vain) trends with some Earthlings. I enjoyed reading other comments, also.
Fantastic and witty. “Your portrait is leaking… consequences” totally nails it. And yes, the whiff of Hitchhiker’s is pleasingly present in this one.
Dear Selma, thank you for your kind comment.
I’m loving this wording, “Ghoulishly funny.” Makes me giggle!
You nailed it, yes I had fun poking fun at current trends here on Earth I
Hey Laurel,
Appreciating your wonderful comment.
Loving “the whiff of Hitchhiker’s.” That wording is pleasing to my eyes and heart. Beautifully said.
So long, and thanks for all the words. ;)
TheLibrarian, as a writer, my heart loves knowing that a reader has experienced a reaction to my writing, any reaction, such as a shudder.
I write a lot of dystopian fiction and it’s fun for me to write this genre – especially when it includes humor – because it stretches my imagination. I’ve never once thought I’d like to do any of it! :)
Again a very pleasant surprise that lit up parts of my brain i didn’t know i needed lit.I love the humour and the creativity shown to create these magical worlds that seem so wondrous,sad and funny.Food for thought as always wrapped in an enjoyable experience.I want more!
Eva, thank you for your delightful comment. If I had a portrait, it would definitely be smiling.
More on the way!
This was a wacky, lovely, and well-written story!
Another beautiful piece of writing — thank you, @Jane McCarthy.
These are the words the story evoked within Self: “The Digital Dorian.”
In essence, this tale exposes the spiritual pathology of our age: image without essence, beauty without depth, progress without responsibility. It is the shadow of creation unacknowledged — the refusal of the masculine principle (will, agency, direction) to meet the feminine principle (truth, feeling, consequence).
When these polarities distort, we birth endless copies of ourselves — avatars of disconnection — instead of authentic evolution. Dorian’s punishment is not moral but metaphysical: he becomes trapped inside his own projection, scrolling through the ghosts of who he might have been.
This and your previous story make me wonder if you’re some kind of time traveling being from another world. The phrasing you concoct is like nothing I’ve ever read!
Also, I think I spotted another Easter egg: Is “She got better!” a Monty Python reference? Since you like odd British humor, I wouldn’t be surprised!
Mandylion, thanks for your comment. Your uplifting words are appreciated.
Quennie, loving your metaphysical review.
Your writing is also beautiful. :) It inspires me to look deeper into my self as the originator of such thoughts/imaginings.
Thankful that my words evoke such conversation.
“And now for something completely different.”
AMediting!
(Just between you and me, I was born somewhere between Betelgeuse and a deadline, Filed under: Mostly Harmless.)
Thank you, for your fabulous comment. 🇬🇧 It creased me up.
Also, appreciating your astuteness. Havok attracts the wonderfully well-read. Hence why I place the easter eggs and wait for the fun experienced by the finders.
I do indeed like odd British humor, being rather odd and British myself.
You have indeed spotted the other easter egg, “She got better!”
Don’t let Dorian see it. He’s not a good egg.
I grew up on repeats of ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail,’ glad to say. That infamous “She’s a witch!” scene is imprinted in my memory. You know, those movie scenes, or book extracts, that never leave you and you reference probably too much because they feel so good! Lol!
Thanks again and hope to see you next time around.
Heartfelt thanks to all the Havok Readers who vote for my stories.
Such a fun take on Dorian! I love the sci-fi twist!