2:58 p.m. Somewhere outside of Evaz, Iran. A hot Wednesday somewhere around July. The sun is high. The land is dry. And he is sweating.
He is sitting there on a burning rock and yet it seems like he doesn't care. His cheeks are flushed and droplets of sweat are racing down his forehead. He closes his eyes and buries his face in his hands. He gets up suddenly and runs towards the cliff. He starts running faster and faster, eyes closed. He stops right before the edge, spreads his arms and looks down. He swallows and turns around, walks towards the rock. He is not brave enough. Either way he is not brave enough. He thinks to himself 'Accept the transformation or die'. The boy lays down on the ground, exposing himself to the overwhelming heat.
A beetle walks by his head. He hears the tiny steps. Time has stopped. He opens his eyes. 'Maybe I am a bird, he thinks, If only I could fly away from here'. But where to go?
The boy gets up, hops on his bicycle and leaves. He is heading towards his parents' house. Somewhere he couldn't call home. He climbs up the stairs. Nobody pays attention to him. He opens the door. Stares at the posters all over his walls, and throws himself on the bed. His father opens the door. 'Your appointment is at 8 tomorrow morning'. The boy sighs and one single tear falls on the pillow.
Friday morning. The boy is no more. No funeral is planned. No one is crying. Except for that young girl on the hospital bed.