Sweat trickles off your forehead and causes your cheek to twitch as it courses down the side of your face. You shift nervously as you sit on the hot stone, casting sideways glances at the group of misfits who wait apprehensively about you. Around 20 young men ageing from 18-30, their dark skin beaded with sweat, their worn-out clothes revealing flesh where they shouldn't. Most of them remain stood, pacing slowly this way and that, eyes fixed on the ground but for the odd sideways glance at another, careful not to make eye contact. You recognise Mandeep, a childhood friend, pacing slowly around the edge of the group, but you don't acknowledge him. Everyone is here by choice, but it is by no means anything to be proud of. In this secluded area of scorched wasteland, the shrill throbbing ring of the cicadas and background noise of the city seem to be quashed by the intense quiet that hangs over the sullen gathering.
↧