A/N: Just a short piece I wrote - An attempt to write fluently in present tense. You'll have to tell me if I managed it!

Caged

She sits there, motionless in the darkness. Her bony arms are wrapped tightly around skeletal knees, huddled up against her emaciated body. Black hair hangs limply, resting on her hunched shoulders, uncut and filthy.

Silent sobs wrack her slight body, as she desperately tries to make herself appear even smaller than she already is. Charcoal wings wrap themselves protectively around her small frame, as the ever-present misery threatens to completely overwhelm her. Rusty iron shackles clank as she shifts her weight slightly, rubbing the flesh on her wrists and ankles raw, leaving behind excruciatingly painful blisters. Vivid scars criss-cross over her entire body, along with cuts and bruises that seem to never heal, causing her frail body to ache endlessly.

The stone floor beneath her is icy cold, as is the wall that she leans against. There is only one source of light in this dungeon; a dim light bulb at the far end, set into an alcove next to the giant, oak door. Vague shadows loom, distorted in this strange illumination, striking fear into the young girl crouched there.

Her dark grey, almost black, eyes survey her dismal surroundings. Her soul is heavy, battle worn from years of abuse and mistreatment, and her eyes show it. She jumps at the slightest movement, terrified of what is to come. Hugging herself, she fails to prevent the tears pricking in the corners of her eyes, and before long they are steaming down her filthy face.

Suddenly there is a loud thud and, creaking, the wooden door swings open. She struggles, trying in vain to stand up, the chains attaching her to the wall clanking loudly. But she is too weak. Her skinny legs give way, and she falls to the ground with a loud, painful thump; a small whimper escaping. As the door creaks shut, she watches in fear as the figure approaches, his footsteps echoing eerily around the small room. He speaks, but the words are unintelligible to her, and she instead allows them to flow over her, bracing herself for what is to come.

His voice steadily becomes louder, sneering as he notices the tears falling freely down her face. His hand shoots out, grabbing her by the hair, wrenching her to her feet. The blows come quickly, his free fist hitting her repeatedly all over her body. She cries in pain, but that only causes him to hit her more, over and over again, until she is numb. She doesn’t fight anymore, desperately hoping that, this time, he will end it.

Her conscious slowly begins to slip away, and she does not fight it; the blissful nothingness is embraced by bruised arms. Anything is better than this.

Even Death.

A/N: So, what do you think? Feedback is appreciated!