It is sunny in Massachusetts, and five children sit in prison.
None of them are above the age of eleven, and they all wear the same expression on their dirty faces: fear, and resignation.
They had never spoke before, but one hand finds another and it is like they've been friends for all of their childhood.
"I wish I was a witch," says the one with red hair, after an hour of silence. "I wish I was. I wish I could make them all suffer."
And none of the accused can find it in them to disagree with this treason.
"It's your's, Matilda. You're the one with younger brothers."
"No! No way. Duncan, you're the nice one."
"I don't know anything about babies!"
"Flinch is the most childish, he should take it."
"Don't be rude, Heathcliff. Why don't you take it? Can't you use your nanos?"
"Yeah! Brainwash the little guy, so he can stop crying!"
"Shouldn't we tell Ruby about this?"
"Right, okay, it's agreed: we do not tell Ruby about this. Let's get to babysitting."