An Eternity Alone

I’m attending my own funeral. Not the funeral of someone close to me that makes it seem like it is mine. I don’t know those. This is my funeral. My death, I suppose. But how can I be dead if I am thinking? I don’t understand it at all. And for me, that is a first.

Of course, I’m not stupid. I’ve tried leaving my body of sorts like before maybe in a ghost or spirit form but it obviously didn’t work. They’ve tried Enervation spells and potions to reawaken me but those didn’t work either. And it wasn’t just my associates. Those who hated me tried to rise me in order that I might suffer the most extreme punishment of all. Not Azkaban. No, certainly not. To them, there is nothing worse. To me, there is. Part of it is that I have no real moments of disgust or terror. My first murder was a little hard but I soon got over that. I never did like my father. And I have always had power that scared away all terror. I have nothing terrible to relive. Nothing at all. They say all mortals have fear but, then again, I am not quite mortal.

I am still alive. Still alive in my dead body. I’ve had dead bodies before, but nothing like this one. This one is different. It contains me inside it. It took out my magic; my power that I struggled so long to gather. And now I am here. In a coffin of sorts, I think. I’m not sure if it is closed or not as my eyes are closed for good by another’s hand but I can here people talking in whispers here and there and many, many crying people. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone cry in either pure relief or pure joy or pure hate. Only in terror. This is new to me. And I don’t know what to make of it. I want to rise up, out of my coffin and see them, only of course I can’t. I’m dead…I think.

Uncertainty. It is to laugh. I have never been unsure or confused or lost before in my life and, now that I am dead, I am. Ironic, in a way.

I want to know what they put on my gravestone. If it says that stupid name ‘Here Lies You-Know-Who’ or if it has my real name or if it has that ridiculous Muggle name that my father gave me. Tom Marvolo Riddle. I would shudder now to think of it, but I can’t move. I’m dead. Either way, I almost hope that they let that Potter boy choose. If he isn’t dead too. We’re connected so he might be dead or at least almost-dead but if he’s not, I want them to let him do everything. He knew me better than anyone. We were connected or maybe are connected both by magic and by our minds. He knew every thought in my head at the time of my almost-death and I knew every thought in his. And the funny thing was that I was thinking up a new spell to stay alive and kill him. He was wondering if she would be proud of him and if she would mind very much that he was about to die. He didn’t want to upset her, he cared so much for her.

I have never known what it was like to love and be loved. I had a mild love once. And she loved me too, but she wouldn’t come with me so I knew she couldn’t have really loved me.

***

***

She left after that. I never saw her again, though I’m sure she is still alive. But I can’t care. I just can’t. It would impede me and I can’t let anything stop me. Nothing. Not even death.

That love, though, that the Potter boy had. It put me in awe. In one fraction of a moment, he remembered hundreds of times he spent with her and different times where she helped him battle it out. And then another of their friends, too. That love is beyond anything I have ever known. I never knew love at Hogwarts. Not of friends and not of a girlfriend. A silly, schoolchild crush was what that was. But his love was true. I wanted it for a moment, but not for long. I don’t want things. I have them. It is my nature. And if I can’t have something, I don’t want it. It’s as simple as that. Still….

And now they are going to bury me where I will spend eternity wondering about death. Maybe my body will deteriorate and I’ll be able to leave. Maybe that fool, Wormtail, will dig me up and try to resurrect me. It would make my thoughts more interesting for a while but I know that he couldn’t succeed. Not just because he is a blundering fool or that you can’t reawaken the dead but because I know what I am now and I know how I am and that is what is considered dead. When you are dead, you are not alive and have lost the power to become alive once again. That’s all.

I wonder if everyone who dies is in this state. Almost-dead. Because then almost-dead would be dead. Dead. But still alive. Still able to think and here and remember. This is the only thing that is worse than Azkaban. Is this what I put all the people through that I killed? They would have died anyway but now I almost feel bad about sending them to their eternity. Almost…but…not quite.

Voldemort developing a conscience? Amusing.

There is only one thing I have left for me now. An eternity of being in the ground, not being able to move or see or talk or taste or smell. No senses. There is almost no sound underground. No way to call for assistance. No way to know if anyone missed me or noticed my disappearance. Well, they would notice. But care? Not that I would want anyone to. They’re all fools anyway.

And now as they lower my body in to the ground, I can hear no one weeping. If anything, I’d expect them to laugh. But I can’t hear anything. It is as still as a grave. My grave. And, as it is covered up, I wonder if I will ever know anything again besides the wood of my surroundings and the damp pressure of the soil.

They can’t bury me. I’m still alive. I want to yell out and surprise them all. I’m still alive. Don’t pack me away yet! NO! But I can’t move. And as the final darkness descends over me, I know this is my end. My end for eternity. For I can never really die.

***

I left then and I never looked back. Ever. I rushed blindly on and I did what was right. And I will admit it, he was. Here are my repercussions.

Eternity is a long time. To be alone in my own thoughts. Alone forever. In the eternal darkness.