I don’t know where to start; from the day I entered Zahedan Intelligence Detention Center? Or from the night I heard the first news of my friends’ execution? I was there for twenty-one months, among walls that not only imprisoned the body of a person, but also their soul. A place where most people were neither thieves nor murderers; they were political and ideological, but many of them had death sentences.

My first cellmates were the ones who were later executed one by one: “Nasser Shahbakhsh”, “Ataollah Riggi”, “Ahmad Naroui”, “Mohammad Saleh Eslamzadeh”, “Abdolrahman Naroui”, and two brothers, “Abdolnasser and Abdolbaset Shahbakhsh”. They are not just names; they were like family to me. We used to call Nasser “Einstein Shahbakhsh”. Even though he was not very old and had not yet reached the age of thirty, you could ask him anything and he would know the answer. He knew everything. He was a man of books, a commander, but the kindest person I had ever seen. Once, Haj Davood (the detention center supervisor) came to beat me in my cell. Nasser grabbed him, pushed him aside and said, “Enough now…” In that moment, Nasser became like

“We were together in a cell for a while. After the explosion of the mosque, the pressure became too much and they separated us from each other. They took me to a cell that we called the “dark cell” because it was truly dark. I don’t know if it was intentional or not, but the light bulb had no light; it was as if they just wanted us to feel like dead bodies…”

A few days later, they brought “Mehralollah Riggi Mahernia”. He was also young, four months younger than me. A friendship formed between us because of our similar age, to alleviate our loneliness. One day he asked, “Who were you with?” I said, “With Haj Naser.” He asked, “Have you heard any news about him?” I replied, “No, I’ve been separated from him for a few days now.” He said, “The radio announced that he has been executed…” In that moment, it felt like someone had hit me on the head with a hammer. It was the first time I had heard news of someone being executed, someone I had just been with in a room a few days ago; we ate together, talked, and laughed together…

Later, I was transferred to Zahedan Central Prison. I was in cell one and my fellow townsman, Vahid Jadgal, was in cell five. One night during roll call, they took Vahid away. In the morning, they said he had been taken for execution. I called his house. I spoke to his mother; I couldn’t tell her what had happened. I just said, “Vahid is fine, I don’t want anything, don’t worry.” Then I called his father and said, “They took Vahid for execution.” His father fell silent and said, “Okay son, I’ll find a way and come…” But by the time he arrived in Zahedan, it was too late. Vahid had been executed in the early morning.

Once, our friends were taken for quarantine, including “Abdolwahab Riggi” and “Habibollah Riggi”. We protested, and Band 5 was set on fire by our political friends. After that, they scattered and took everyone to quarantine. We, the youth of Band 1: “Me”, “Mehrali and Ali Pezhgol”. In quarantine, “Saeed Shahbakhsh” was also in Takhtsoul; he was a security friend and was supposed to be executed. He said, “I won’t die until I see my comrades.” He came, said goodbye to us, and in that moment when he hugged us and left… I don’t know, but I felt he was saying goodbye to the living. A few hours later, news of his execution reached us.

After that, they exiled me to Ardabil. Sixteen months without meeting, without contact. When they finally allowed me to make a phone call, after talking to my family, the first person I called was Mehrali’s mother. I asked, “How is Mehrali?” She said, “They only showed us a meter of his grave…” My heart sank. I understood that Mehrali had been executed. Then I called Abdulwahab’s father. He said, “They executed your friend and brother. They’re both gone.”

During that time, in absolute unawareness, more than twenty of my comrades were executed: “Mehrali Rigimahernia”, “Abdulwahab Rigi”, “Abdulbasit Rigi”, “Yahya Charizehi”, “Ayoub Ghoramzehi”, “Abduljalil Ghorazehi”, “Habibullah Riginjazh Shurki”, “Saman Jodgale”, “Abdulghani Gonguzehi”, “Hamed Vokalat”… Names that each have their own story, their own life. One day they were here, and the next day all that was left was a voice saying they were no longer here.

“They were friends, they were brothers, and their presence among all that darkness was like a light. Their execution was not just a sentence; it tore pieces of us and took them away. And even now, when I close my eyes and think of them, their voices echo in my mind; the sound of their laughter…”

But as long as I am alive, with a burden on my shoulders that will never be put down. Every word I have written is for those who have gone, but have not been forgotten.

Mohammad Saber Malek Raeisi, a political prisoner, was arrested at the age of 17 and was released in 1399 after enduring 11 years of imprisonment.