I Want to Die(Leila) People couldn't die for some time now. Instead of being taken to morgues and cemeteries after death, they had to go there themselves and ask for death.

Zahra, a 70-year-old woman, was going to a cemetery in south of Tehran. The cemetery was named Behesht-e Zahra [Zahra's paradise], but her mind was too busy to think about this irony.

She was alone with her son, Hamid, who was driving the car. Hamid was 35 years old, and had taken a day off the work to take his mother there. He didn't care much for his mother, but when she asked him to take her there, he agreed simply because he found it easier than arguing with Zahra.

The cemetery was far away from the city, so Hamid had to drive a long way in a hot summer. There, he couldn't find a parking place, and had to pay a lot to park his car in a private parking, under the sun.

Zahra and Hamid got off the car and headed towards the cemetery. It was a long walk. People heading there looked more tired than sad.

The entrance was crowded. On the way, they saw a man who was cut in half, and was dragging himself towards the morgue on his hands. Just before entering, Hamid saw a taxi driver fighting with something, which turned out to be a burned man when they got closer.

"You dragged me all the way here for nothing?!" the taxi driver yelled at the burned man, who was barely recognizable. "Pay up!" he demanded.

"But I don't have any money with me," the burned man cried, "all my money burned in the fire. I can't take it anymore. I'm in so much pain. I just want to die."

"You should have told me so before you got into my car. I won't let you die until you pay me!"

Zahra and Hamid where too occupied with their own problems to care about this fight. They just ignored the situation, and entered the morgue's reception area.

The whole area was crowded. There was hardly any place to walk. They managed to find their way towards an employee who was sitting behind a long counter, alongside other employees, facing long lines of people.

"Excuse me," Zahra called him, "I'm here to die. How should I proceed?"

The reception area was too noisy. The employee asked, "Did you say you came here to die?"

"Yes, I came here to die," Zahra cried, "I can't take it anymore! I don't want to live! I prefer death to this life! How much more should I tolerate? I wish God hadn't even made me! I wish ..."

"Lady! Lady!" the employee cut her short, "take a number from that machine, fill in this form, pay these charges, and bring us the receipt. You can use the bank next door. Make sure you have all the requirements written on the form."

"What are the charges for?" asked Hamid.

"The charges are for the remedy the client will be injected with in order to die and the process of injecting it."

Hamid took the papers and walked away with his mother. "You take a number and fill this form. I will pay the charges." he told Zahra, as he went to the bank.

The bank was crowded too. Hamid wondered why they don't just accept money at the reception, but his mind was too busy to occupy itself with such questions. He just stood in a long line for a long time and paid the charges, which turned out to be expensive.

When he returned to the reception area, he found his mother sitting away from the crowd. She was still filling the form. "It's not finished yet?" he asked.

"No. There are too many questions." Zahra yelled in anger, and continued, "I dedicated all my life to you, and you can't even wait for me to fill a form and die?!"

"I didn't say anything." Hamid answered indifferently. "Take all the time you need."

Zahra kept writing on the form. When she came to a question, asking her reason for dying, where she should have checked a box, she chose "Unwillingness to live" as her reason for dying.

"What is our number?" Hamid asked her.

"What number?" Zahra asked in confusion.

"Didn't you reserve a number for us?! That's how you take a turn. You could have pushed the button on that machine to take a number before sitting to fill the form."

Zahra didn't answer him. Hamid was disappointed, and went to the machine to take a number. Their number was far from what a monitor which displayed the turns showed. They had to wait a long time for their turn.

Hamid sat beside his mother, clearly unhappy.

"Don't worry," Zahra told him, crying. "This is the last day. You won't see me after today. That's what you want, isn't it?"

Hamid saw no point in talking to his mother. He didn't care much about her, but never wanted her to die. He never understood Zahra, and saw her as an unreasonable person; the kind who lets problems accumulate without trying to solve them, and then suddenly exploded with anger or sadness. He couldn't care about someone who never cared for herself.

Zahra couldn't stay silent and cried, "I dedicated my life to you, but you never liked or respected me. None of you did. I had no family ... I never had one ... I never had a husband, or a son. I was just fooling myself. You people are not my family. You are some strangers who abused me in every possible way. You sucked away all my life, my youth, like parasites. But I won't let you anymore. I will end my life today."

"Can we just sit quietly?" Hamid asked loudly, "What's the point of all this blabbering? If you have made up your mind, there is no reason to talk anymore. No one forced you to live your life like you did. That's all on you. You could have changed your life at any point, but you didn't want to, and you still don't want to. If I was your problem, or it was dad, or anyone else, you could have simply left us."

He paused for a moment, and then continued, "You could have started a new life, away from everything you hate, if you really wanted. But no! You had to ask me, the very parasite who has sucked your life and youth, to take a day off the work, and instead of using it to rest, drive you here."

Unwilling to continue the conversation, and seeing no hope to change Zahra's mind, Hamid said, "At this point, all we can do for each other is not walking on the nerves. That's the very reason you want to do this, right? To not bother yourself with anything anymore? You don't have to wait for death. You can stop bothering right now by sitting quietly, and not bothering to talk."

They sat there awkwardly for a long time. It was like the time was passing slowly. The air was hot, the whole area was crowded, and the whole atmosphere was sad and suffocating.

3 Hours passed until it was finally their turn. They got up and walked to the counter, handing the form and the receipt to a man working there.

"Do you own a grave?" he asked them.

"No. We don't have one. Why should we even own one beforehand?!" Zahra answered him angrily.

"Many clients purchase a grave before they come here. Some even buy many, in order to sell them in the black market. You know, the prices are going up, so that's a lucrative investment. Having a grave beforehand also speeds up the whole death process."

"I don't have one." Zahra answered, "Can I get one now?"

"Certainly. Do you want to pay the sum right now, or you're willing to pay in installments?"

"How much does it cost?"

"It depends on which part of the cemetery you want. There are some good places, easily accessible, decorated with trees and flowers. Those are very costly. A grave costs 50,000 dollars in such parts."

Zahra was disappointed and angry to hear that. "I just want a simple grave. Something ordinary people use. Something cheap."

"I see." the employee told him with a serious tone. "There are cheaper ones in the southern area, where it's mostly desert, and hard to reach. They don't include many services we offer."

"How much for a grave there?"

"It's about 5,000 dollars."

"What?" Hamid jumped in, "5000 for a few meters of a desert?"

"Yes sir," the employee told him, "That's the price. You can't find a cheaper grave, unless you want to be buried in remote areas, far from Tehran. In that case, you may find graves as cheap as 4000 dollars, or 3000, if you go near the borders. But as I said, you can pay in installments."

"Is there no condition for that?" Hamid asked him, "We can simply pay little by little?"

"No sir," the employee answered, "It's more like a loan. The cemetery takes 20 percent interest, and adds the inflation rate to it. So, you have to pay the sum, plus 20 percent, plus whatever the inflation rate may add to the current amount, in installments."

Hamid thought for a moment and said "That's too much. Is there no other way we can get a grave?"

"Yes, there is. Do you have another relative buried somewhere in our cemetery?"

"My mother," said Zahra, "She died a few years ago, when people could have died naturally. She is buried here."

"Okay, in that case, we can dig up her grave, and put you inside her coffin. You just have to pay for the digging and reburying."

"Two bodies in the same coffin?!" Hamid asked in surprise, "How is that possible? I know one must be a skeleton by now, but still ..."

"Don't worry about that sir. We have experienced workers here who know how to fit them inside."

"Fine!" Zahra said with anger, "I'll pay for a grave in the desert part. Take my money. Take it all! I don't need it anymore."

"Now, about the coffin," the employee said, "Do you have one, or need to purchase it?"

"We don't have that either." Hamid said, trying to relieve his mother of answering. "How much for that?"

"It depends on the model. What do you have in mind? We have coffins made with fine wood. Those cost 10000 dollars each. There are cheaper plastic ones, made in China, which are around 3000 dollars. However, I should warn you that they can barely support the weight of corpses, and sometimes they break apart before you put them in the ground. And finally, there are secondhand coffins, which are very cheap, mostly under 1000 dollars."

"What do you mean second hand?" Hamid asked in confusion, "Does that mean someone has been in them before?"

"Yes, someone has been in them. Depending on their condition, their prices vary."

"I just want a cheap thing." Zahra said with a sad voice.

"Well, the cheapest thing we have is a secondhand one. Only 500 dollars. However, I should warn you that it's in a bad shape, and merely glued together."

"Wait," Hamid cut his sentence, "How do you get secondhand coffins in the first place?"

"Simple. The relatives who want the buried coffin can ask us to dig it up and give it to them. They only have to pay for digging the grave. That way, they can reuse or sell the grave as well."

"But what do they do with the corpse?"

"We don't know. It's not our place to ask. But the particular one I mentioned, belonged to a man who died 80 years ago. His grandson needed money badly, so he dug up the grave, sold the glued coffin to us, and the skeleton to a school, where they use it to teach children about anatomy."

"Can't you just throw me into a hole and pour dirt on me?" Zahra asked.

"I'm sorry, but that's not possible. The law says every corpse has to be inside a coffin."

"Fine! I take the glued coffin." Zahra responded, sounding more angry than sad.

"Okay. Now, about the headstone. We have fine ones made with expensive granite, cheap ones made with the same ceramics you can see in our toilets, and many things in between. We can carve your name and picture on them with lasers, or make them artistic by using experienced hands to crave. We can add some poetry or anything you like ..."

Zahra cut him short, "Is that mandatory too? I prefer not to have a headstone at all."

"I'm afraid that's mandatory as well. You see, a headstone is not just for you. It works like a house number. We need to know who is buried where. This is a large cemetery, so we can't do that without a headstone."

"Wait!" Hamid jumped in again, "Before we discuss prices, can you name all the things we need to pay for? We need to have an idea about that before we proceed."

"What do you care?" Zahra yelled at him, "I'm the one who is going to die. I'll pay for it myself. Get lost, leave me be!"

Hamid got angry, and was about to leave. But the employee shouted "Wait! Was he supposed to help you?

"Help me with what?" Zahra asked in surprise.

"Didn't you read the information section on the form? Our grave digging services are not available in the entire cemetery. The person who wants to be buried in the section you picked has to bring at least one able person for digging the grave. He should also carry your corpse there."

"I wasn't paying attention to that," Zahra told him, "I had too many things in mind, so it was hard to focus on the paper."

"Is he the one who is going to put you in the grave or not?"

"There is no one else, so I guess I have to do it." Hamid answered.

"Just one person? That can be problematic. The place you picked is very remote. Carrying the corpse there is very hard. You will need a transport. Will you rent a truck or a wheelbarrow?"

"I have a car." said Hamid, "Can't I just put my mother in the trunk of my own car and carry her there?"

"No sir. Outside cars are not allowed to enter the cemetery."

"Why?"

"Well, it's possible that they will be used for grave robbing. We also don't want to disturb the peace of this place."

"But your place is not very peaceful, and it's not logical to ban something because someone may misuse it. Cars can be used to rob places in the city as well. But can that be a reason for banning them from the streets? You can allow a single car with each corpse to drive on the roads connecting the sections. That won't be the end of the world."

"I'm sorry sir, those are the rules. If you disagree with the rules, you can inform the management."

"How can I do that?"

"Just write a letter and put it there." said the employee, pointing to a feedback box.

"How much for a truck or a wheelbarrow?" asked Zahra.

"Again, that depends on the quality of what you want, but a cheap truck is 5000 dollars per hour, and a cheap wheelbarrow, just strong enough to carry your weight, is 300 dollars per hour."

"Does a corpse even fit inside a wheelbarrow?" Hamid asked in confusion.

"No. The top and bottom parts usually stay out, hanging in the air. But nevertheless, you can carry your corpse to its grave, and put it inside a coffin there, since you can't carry a coffin and a corpse together. Just be sure the coffin is there before you take the corpse. It seems like you have to travel there twice to take them both."

"Is that all?" Hamid asked with a desperate voice.

"Yes, unless you require mourning services, or catering services for your guests. In that case, you need to fill some other forms. You should also pay the death tax in order to receive your corpse from the morgue. You can use the bank next door."

"Why didn't anyone tell me before? I spent a long time in the line, and now I have to go there again?!"

"Well, no death services have been provided so far. You need to pay the tax once the person in question is dead."

"Look, I hate to bring this up, but what happens if we don't bury the corpse in a cemetery? From what you said about the secondhand coffins, I concluded that we don't have to bury the dead people in a cemetery. We can just bury them elsewhere, without paying anything."

"You didn't understand me correctly sir. I said it's not our place to ask what people do with corpses. I never said burying them elsewhere is permitted. That's actually a serious felony. There are strict regulations for not abandoning a corpse in the morgue or somewhere in the cemetery, let alone burying it elsewhere. The cemetery will pursue the offenders."

Hamid looked at Zahra in desperation, and asked "Can you even pay for your death?"

"No." Zahra answered, with even more desperate voice.

"I can't either. We don't have that much money. We have to sell the house and my car, and I have to take several large loans. Do you still want to proceed?"

"I don't know."

They kept thinking for a minute, until a man who was carrying his head in his arms shouted, "Why are you taking so long? Don't you see how many people are waiting? I'm in a terrible pain. I was decapitated in a car accident, and have been waiting for death since yesterday. How much more is this going to take?"

Hamid told Zahra, "Look, we can't spend that much. I have an idea. You can just lock yourself in the basement, close your eyes, and stop thinking. How is that any different from death? I don't understand why you insist on technicalities so much. Maybe in a few years, when I gather enough money, we can do something about your death."

"Fine," said Zahra, "I don't have any choice. Let's go."

"Will I get a refund for what I paid?" Hamid asked the employee.

"No sir."

"But I didn't use any of your services."

The employee pointed at a "No Refunds" sign on the wall and added, "Sir, you took a lot of our time, and you wasted a paper form. The cemetery can't work if people keep wasting our time and papers. Please, make up your mind and study the rules before you come here."

Hamid and Zahra were very disappointed, and started walking back towards the car awkwardly, while none of them was willing to talk.

On the way, they saw the burned man again. He was sitting near the entrance and begging people for money. He kept saying "Please, ladies, gentleman, help me. I can't live like this. I need your kindness to die. May God tenfold everything you give me now, and give it back to you in the afterlife."

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