A.N: Okay so this is short, but it's just an introduction. I hope you like this, and there will definitely be more soon. :)

I am an orphan. An orphan in any other district could perhaps be tolerable, but to be an orphan in District 12 is horrific. I was just two days old when I was discovered in the back of Head Peacekeeper, Jasper Sitwell's truck on our way towards the Capitol. A serious and unyielding man, I've been told he handed me off to a passerby in a heartbeat, asking no questions. This stranger, who now held my fate in his hands, was called Beale Campbell, a balding man, with rosy cheeks, brought me to his house, to the Seam. The Seam is brutal, and harsh, but it's my home. Here his wife, a cold-hearted cow if ever there was one, struggling with a newborn son herself, forced him to take me to the 'District 12 Community Home'. It's basically the term used for an orphanage, just sugar-coated.

The orphanage, on the outskirts of the Seam, is where I have lived for the past sixteen years. Sixteen years of the House Sentinel's barking orders in my ear, sixteen years of a rumbling stomach, and sixteen years of punishments. If there's one thing the orphanage excels in, it's handing out punishments. When I was four I woke up the whole house, screaming because of a horrible nightmare. The Sentinel's, which is what our 'guardians' were known as, decided that I was to be caned across my knuckles twenty times. If I cried, or called out in pain, the count was to begin again. Then, when I was ten, I got into trouble at school for not learning the anthem of Panem. The orphanage were told, and when I returned home, Doctor List was waiting for me, with a hot poker. The worst must have been when I was eight, and I had ever-so casually said at the dinner table that President Malick was a bad man. Doctor List grabbed a hold of my ear and whisked me upstairs. Never had I seen anybody move so quick, especially for an old man. There I was locked in the 'Monster Closet', as us orphans referred to it as, for three days, without food, water, or light. Every now and then I would hear voices, but I wasn't sure if they were from outside the cupboard, or they were inside with me. Ever since then, I have been deathly afraid of the dark. And of letting my tongue slip.

Mother Margaret was quite nice however. She was an elderly woman, who would read us stories, and knit us animals out of old blankets. If any of the orphans were about to receive a horrid punishment, she was there to soften the blow, or stop it if she could. Mary-Sue Poots was what she named me; Mary-Sue after an author of the only book she had in her possession, and Poots because that was the street I was tossed out on to. She loved us all, and cared for us all like we were hers, and in return we loved her back. Shame she died when I was seven. I never knew much about her life, only that she was in love with a man called Steve, who was a hero of some kind.

After Mother Margaret, I never really loved anybody like family. There is Lincoln, the son of Beale Campbell, the kind stranger who dropped me off here. We met in kindergarten, at the age of five. Brought together by our mutual love of tree-climbing and laughing when we shouldn't supposed to, we've remained close friends ever since. He's also from the Seam, and hasn't had an easy life. His father was a warm-hearted man, but his mother is stern and cruel. She can't stand me, and I can't stand her. Lincoln certainly takes after his father, which I'm very glad about.

Lincoln is sort of like a brother to me, and I'm like the sister he never had. Since we were twelve years old, we've been hunting together in the woods. He makes the traps, I shoot the prey. We then both take our winnings to town, or to the Hob, and make a sale. Usually we almost always find a buyer. With what we have leftover, we take back to our respected homes. Of course, I have a lot more mouths to feed. As long as I bring back the squirrel Doctor List loves so much, the orphanage won't report me.

In the house are thirty-one orphans, including me. There would be more, but the children who come to us out of desperation usually die within a week. I barely survived as a baby, being born in the middle of the summer months. Apparently, in District 11 there was a drought, preventing the harvest from being distributed amongst the Districts. The Capitol however, were unscathed, funnily enough. I bet none of their children have gone to bed with an empty stomach before. I was amongst eight babies brought in that year, and one of only two who survived. The other orphan, Matthew Murdock, is now blind and condemned to a life of destitution.

I'm second oldest, after Matthew, and will shortly be expected to leave. At eighteen I will be thrown out onto the streets once again, and told to find a home, get married, or simply 'make-do'. Lincoln jokes that I can always marry him and share his home.

Being one of the eldest, I have a huge responsibility. The younger orphans turn to me if they can't sleep at night, or they miss their parents. Katya Belykov, who is now twelve, came to the orphanage when she was six, after losing her father, Justus, in a mine explosion, (the same one which killed Lincoln's father) and losing her mother, Eva, to a drunken Peacekeeper who let the power and the booze get to his head. I think of Katya as my little sister. I have cared for her since I was eleven, dressing her, washing her face, feeding her, wiping her tears, tucking her in at night, reading her stories just as Mother Margaret had done for me. Katya certainly didn't deserve to be alone, without a family. She was the kindest, most generous, most courageous girl I had ever met.

That's why the idea of her name being entered into the reaping made me feel physically sick.

For me, it was my fifth year. Doctor List saw that I was feisty, and strong-willed, therefore thinking I was capable of survival in the Games. Every year, since I was twelve years old, I've had to put myself forward for a tesserae, five times. Being from the orphanage, technically I can sign up for thirty-one tessera, thirty-six if you count the Sentinel's. Five was considered a decent amount, however. This year, my name would be placed in the bowl thirty times. If I made it to next year, it would be thirty-six.

I'd pleaded, and pleaded with Doctor List to allow Katya to be counted out of having a tesserae, and having her name entered only once; the minimum. List had agreed, telling me that I owe him five of the plumpest squirrel's I can find, or I better pray that my name gets called out if he doesn't get them.

Even still, the thought of Katya, good and innocent Katya, entering the Games was gut-wrenching. I've seen twelve-years olds in the Games before, hopelessly frightened and alone, murdered in the most brutal ways imaginable, all in the name of entertainment. I couldn't bear it.

So I did pray. I prayed and prayed that Katya's name would not be called out.