Great. So I wrote this lovely long intro and it didn't save. And I managed to post Chapter 7 as Chapter 8. Clever.

Maybe you can see why I don't want to write another long intro?

Thanks for reviews - they really motivate me :)

*WentToTheMoonToday

...

Coraline Rige, District Seven

When I am sure that the boy isn't looking, I nudge Monty's head out of my pocket. He is the only thing I have to remind me of home. Already, the rich, expensive interior of the train is making me dizzy. Along with the constant muttering of my district partner.

My father is a woodcutter who earns a minimum wage and Mum carves furniture. Sometimes, I help out by carving wooden animals. Monty is a sheep dog, which I carved two years ago. Although simply shaped, the detail is intricate. Dad says I could take over mum's business when I'm old enough. I'm not sure I want to.

Monty has a special place on my bedside table. He sits next to my raspberry scented candle which I got for my 12th birthday and the red ribbon which Nan gave me. These memories bring a sharp pang of grief and I quickly brush a tear away before anyone notices.

I shouldn't have been chosen. My name was in there once. The odds were next to impossible, but still, the ditzy escort screeched out my name. Seven never has volunteers. From that point on, I knew that I was doomed to a violent death, far from my parents, and far from home.

Sienna Garcia, District Three

The table is virtually groaning under the weight of food. Tiers of vibrant fruits are stacked perfectly. Bowls of salad are neighbours with totem poles of fresh vegetables. Soft, fluffy bread is placed delicately next to tureens of aromatic soup and the table gives off a luxurious scent of rich and expensive delicacies.

It is all rather much. I'd rather be at home with Alyssa, my little sister. Right now, we'd be celebrating that we hadn't been chosen with a simple yet delicious home-cooked meal. The TV that flickers every now and then would be constantly reeling footage of the day's Reapings. We could be in bed, dreaming freely, now that we knew we were safe for at least another year.

Through the floor, we'd be able to hear Mum singing, intertwined with Dad's lower pitched rumble. It would be punctuated with bouts of laughter and we knew that even in our messed up world, we were happy and safe for the time being.

Not anymore. As I sit down at the table and numbly drop some random food onto my plate, I think to what the house would be like, now that I am gone.

The shutters would be drawn. Mum's forehead would be wrinkled in stress and Dad would be staring into the fire. They would have forgotten about Alyssa's bedtime and she'd be there, clutching onto Mum's waist. Without me, Mum might not remember what a twelve year old child needs to survive. Food, attention, sleep.

And me of course, by that time, I'd probably be dead, killed in the Bloodbath.