"What are they going to do to us?"
Nobody looks at the trembling child who posed this question. That's precisely what the person is — a little child, clearly emaciated, skin stretched over cheekbones, limbs oddly knobbed at the joints. Maybe its the grime on their clothes and skin, or the short cut hair, but it's impossible to tell whether the child is a boy or a girl. They seem more like a mouse, big brown eyes wide and terrified as they stare up at the others.
No one says a word at first. It's bad enough to imagine the answer to the question. To put those morbid visions into words — no one has that courage, not right away.
"Maybe they'll eat us."
It's a boy who breaks the silence, a young man of about seventeen. His hair is as black and as slick as obsidian, and his skin contrastingly pale. His eyes are more that of a rat's. A small grin plays over his thin lips as he poses the idea to the others. "Not that there's much fat on us, but who knows."
"Shut up, Emm," a girl crouching beside him says. Wavy locks of black hair hang about her body like a curtain. She clutches her arms to her stomach as if she's sick. "Just shut up." The way she chokes on her words, it certainly seems like she's trying to keep from throwing up.
"Perhaps they'll just execute us." Another girl, this one with wispy blonde hair and dark tanned skin, speaks up. Her face is too soft to be very old, but there is a seriousness in her eyes that seems both aged and forbidding. "Perhaps it will be like the old myth, where the first born children were all struck down to make a point."
"But I'm not first born… The first born son in my family is already dead. After him, there's my brother. Then my two sisters. I'm not even the youngest — I've another brother after me." The boy who says this has fear and misery knitted over his brow. He is slim and muscular, that vague body shape which is either very healthy and strong, or on its last legs before dying of starvation. It's a shape all the children have become too familiar with. "And there's not a mother or father for any of us…" he adds, more to himself than anyone else, it seems.
"Damned districts, you lot are stupid. You honestly think they're just going to kill us? Just like that?" A harsh, bemused voice, followed by a snort of mixed amusement and disgust.
The whole group turns. Slightly separate from the rest of them, leaning against the wall, picking at her fingernails, stands a tall girl. Her eyes — bright, yellow eyes — make no effort to look at the others, apparently perfectly entranced with the nails on her left hand. She has no right hand. Her entire right arm is missing, the sleeve pinned up to the shoulder of her garment. The garment immediately explains her missing limb. Although the color is faded by time and wear, the deep crimson garb is that of the rebels of District Five.
"What, you think they're not going to kill us? You think they took us all to the Capitol to give us a better start?" the boy who had suggested they might be eaten asks, raising an eyebrow.
The District Five rebel girl looks at him, then slowly to the others in the group of people. The miserable amusement that had been on her face slowly degrades into plain misery. "This is why we lost, you know," she says. "Because none of us think. Look at the number of us in this group. Do you think there are twenty-four of us by chance?"
Her question is met with silence, an implied, well, yes, we hadn't really thought about it.
"Twenty-four. Twelve of us are girls, twelve of us are boys," she says. "And twelve districts left that the Capitol wants to punish. Now, I can't speak for any of you, but I was what you might call a thorn in the Capitol's side throughout the Rebellion."
Again, nobody says anything, though some of them eye her missing arm. They have the feeling that "a thorn in the Capitol's side" is a bit of an understatement.
"They're not just going to kill us. It's too easy. It's too obvious. They've killed loads of kids. Twenty-four more wouldn't make a difference." And now the girl pauses. For a moment, her face falters, and there is the slightest hint of a tremble in her lip. It's gone in an instant.
"They're going to make an example of us," she says. "And however they do it… it will be a thousand times worse.