A memory is burnt in me. I can't help but think about it. It consumes even the simple thoughts my dead brain can think these days. I can't remember much about it.

Burning liquid… Water… Clammy hands… There are no noises to these feelings, but there are voices. One I seem to recognize as my own. I'm not sure how; I haven't spoken since the change. However, I'm sure of it.

I'm begging, pleading for something that isn't in my memory. Did it ever really exist?

There's another voice. Hoarse, croaking… I can tell that they're worried for me. Also, a feeling of… trust and friendship rises up in me. I don't know why; I do not remember.

And there's a third voice. I can't hear it well, but it seems to waver. It's quiet; though I can tell they're screaming… I can hardly hear it, but it's there. A lot of the voice's words are jumbled together, cryptic. The voice sounds angry. Was it at me? Did I do something? I wished to remember more but…

The few words I could hear were not encouraging. Profanities… Insults… There was a strange term mixed in with them. Death eater. Death Eater? It made no sense, but whenever I thought the term, a fleeting feeling of fear and anger and betrayal all mixed together and about as clear as mud ran through me.

If I strained my memory for hours, I could remember a feeling of intense fear and a burning inside of me. The first time I achieved this, I had been glad for my inability to move. If I could have, I would have cried out in shock and pain. Yet, as an enchanted dead body, I didn't have to worry about that.

The logical part of my brain could tell me that the others had dragged me under. What else could the feeling of water have been? How else would I have gotten down here? They killed me. Why?

I wanted to remember. The others… I could never tell if they were capable of clear thought or not. Were they lost forever? If they were, I think I have the worse misery to bear. To remember feelings and senses like the tight grip of clammy, cold hands, to feel a sudden pain as if it was a memory… It was torture.

I knew I was dead. It was obvious. When I saved enough energy, a feat which had taken years for me to accomplish, I twitched an eyelid. In that one moment that I could see my surroundings… My body was laid out before me, naked, bare. My skin pallid and pasty, my arms… I was disintegrating in the water, and I was fading quickly. My cross to bear is to watch and feel as my body decomposes… It's a torture beyond all others.

What had happened to the days where death was something that set you free? No matter what was happening in my life, I know that it would be better than this half-life, this cursed-life. Enough of my soul is trapped in my enchanted body. I am not alive.

The best way to put would be to say that a cage has trapped my soul, and my body is the walls of it. I've tried, oh yes; I've tried to push through the barriers. The first time I tried it, the pain had made my uncontrollable body twitch. That exhausted my energy enough for me to be unable to try again.

I suppose it's a cruel irony. My body has trapped me. My physical life holds me here. I begin to think of the memories my alive - self had as another person's. Surely, no one could be brave enough to die and to know that they'd have this cursed reality.

I can tell that I was young. However, I'm not sure how I know. It's a… feeling… I suppose. Maybe the still heart inside of me is fresh, and I can sense it.

I am an inferi, and this is my life – no, not life. I am not alive, but I am trapped. Help.