[Memory] What: Memory Will characters be viewing the memory or experiencing it?: Experiencing it. Warning, this memory contains: Body dysmorphia. Implications of torture. No language, nothing graphic.
For you, a series of experiences, that each slowly wax and wane in a short, yet endless time.
Starvation is a pain. It's a gnawing agony down in your guts, twisting them up. It wrings you up. Moving is deliberate, it takes choices. Where does the energy go? Breathing? Walking? How about lifting your arms? Can't do it all. Too hungry.
Isolation is a fear. You're not alone. There's another man, stick-thin, spread out on the bamboo-and-cinderblock rectangle that makes up the "bed." You watch, and he suddenly stops trying. No moving, no light comments about the list of candy bars you're putting together. He starts blinking, and only blinking, and then he stops that, and just dies right there. Giving up is also a choice.
You're facing another prisoner, another sallow face in threadbare cotton. Sticky weather sweat from the humidity shines on his forehead. He is describing the house he built in his mind to you: board by board, in real time, he built it. What else is there to do? You're impressed. All you've done is make lists and imagined all the different people you'd love to be, especially when you look down, and see limbs that never match the ones you think you have.
The resulting dislocation jars you out of the memory, and puts you back. Maybe you're lucky enough to feel like those hands are yours. They're just masculine enough, or just feminine enough. What about your face, does that match? Can you go get something to eat from the kitchen? How lucky you are, now that you're yourself.