A.N. This is a monologue from the point of view of Mr. Diggory. I know I just wrote a story about this, but I wanted to write something else. It has no connection with the events I described in Dealing with a Death -- it's not the same plot. It's my first attempt at a monologue, and I'm not sure how it's going to turn out. Anyway, please read/review. And be honest with me!

Disclaimer: All the characters belong to J.K. Rowling. She owns all the books. This monologue belongs to me.

I ask myself, for the thousandth time, "Why?" Why did he have to die? He was only seventeen years old. Why couldn't he have lived? Why did Voldemort kill him? He had a whole life ahead of him?

What did he do to deserve this? What did we do to deserve the torment of his death? The answer is clearly, nothing. I know it. Cedric didn't do anything wrong. But why should Voldemort care? That Cedric never did anything wrong would just make Voldemort want to hate him more.

Cedric was such a good boy. I was so proud of him. He beat Harry at Quidditch, and if it wasn't for Voldemort, he could have tied with Harry for the Triwizard Cup. He had done what I always had wished I could have done: to, for once, be at the top, not overshadowed by someone else.

I don't think I can stand life after his death. His death wasn't just his. It was mine. Not my physical death. My heart still pumps, my lungs still breath. But inside, I feel just nothingness. I loved Cedric. He was the joy of my life.

I don't know why I should still go on. It wouldn't be much a change. I don't feel alive. Nobody talks to me anymore, other than to comfort me, and I don't want to interact with anyone. I'm already gone in spirit. It would be hardly noticed if I was gone in body.

Everybody says they're sorry, it was a pity, the boy's death was such a tragedy. And they probably are. But they don't know. They think that it will all leave. Don't they know that I can never forget? That I can never recover after this? That after I lost Cedric, I lost everything?

They all try to comfort me. Tell me that I will feel better after a while. Those are empty words. They don't understand. They say that the pain will subside one day. That it won't always be so bad. That I will eventually find a small ray of hope, a ray of sunlight in the darkness.

I ask myself, "Where is this ray?" I've searched for it endlessly. For that beam of light that will end it all. It simply doesn't exist. Now, a night has fallen that will never end. Why can no one understand it?

I'm tired of searching for a non-exist hope. Tired of looking for something that I know I can't find. Looking for life within my dead soul. I don't want to do it anymore. I'm going to just end it all. End my now-empty life. No one should care. I've already been gone for a long time. When I die, it will just be another statistic, another death added to Cedric's on a bar graph...