This is a very bizarre dark fic, with a strange hint of light. It is Dementor POV.

Yes, this is slightly religious.

Mortal Death

A Dementor contemplates the value of his life

By PikaCheeka

Death. Everything fears it, hates it, postpones it. Every creature that breathes the breath of life. It is hard for me to understand all of this. For I am Death.

I am a Dementor.

Death, to them, is a black pit of despair, where ones leaves this world and enters another. Another world full of agony. From what I know of this world, it is as close to that as possible. Hatred, rage, fear, it all exists here, co-exists smoothly as if it were natural. It is not natural, Dementors are not natural.

And that is what Dementors are. We are created when a particular spot gathers up to much hatred and fear and rage. We are created out of the dust, so it seems. The deepest part of sin. Why? It is as unfair to us as it is to them.

They say we Dementors are soulless, that we can not feel pain, feel fear, or know what our prey is thinking. Some of us enjoy it, but not all. Some, like I, hate this so called life we lead. We do not wish to be the lowest part of this planet, all the sin gathered into one being. I would rather not exist, but I know it is over now. For sin does not live after death. We are death, and death we shall stay. Which means Hell.

I glided down the aisle of Azkaban, looking at all the bars. We can see, but not with eyes, with our souls. Our souls that are unknown of.

I can not help but see all the fear the humans have toward me, There are several who do not fear us, but they are not here. Voldemort is too smart, too swift, too sly to get caught. And they would kill him, not put him here.

I hate this place.

This cold place of confinement.

I know it is I that helps create this ominous atmosphere, but I do not wish to. I want nothing more than to leave. But we Dementors are not allowed in the world outside of Azkaban. It is our prison as well. If I did escape, I would be hunted down, punished, and returned. They can not kill me, for only Dementors know how to kill Dementors.

Bring death to death.

For death is mortal.

Life is not. How can this be called life? Our whole existence is to take away others. How can that be called life? Humans, they all have a meaning to their life, a value, unless they destroy it. But we do not. We have no value, no point to our existence. Death? There is a point to that, but there is no need for us. People die naturally every day, and are killed by other creatures every day, but that is life.

We Dementors are abnormal. Pointless creatures. We should not exist.

But you humans. You men and women and young people who are here in Azkaban? It is your fault!

I wish to scream, but I can not. I can only have my 'body' vibrate with what I am thinking. These humans can never know what I believe.

Why can't you understand? Why can't you forget the Dark Side? Stop killing, stop hating! Live in Peace. I am doomed. For I have already been created. But can we not prevent that from ever happening again? We can stop Dementors from existing! And that, in itself, does a world of good for every thing in the world!

It is torment for some of us to even exist! We are doomed to hate, to be hated, to bring death. But this would end...

I stopped, glaring up and down the rows. They would never understand.

Never, never...never....

This kind of death is immortal.