This is a first person narrative, grim as only prisons and war can be, with a few glimpses of something lighter. Not an easy read - this one requires commitment to tackle the style and a strong stomach for the content.
The security was pointing at his penis. This is the enemy, he said, why do you blame me? It is it. I blame it too. Look, I do not even call it him! He smiled and watched us, holding it out so. It was not erect. He gripped the girl by the back of her head and inserted it into her mouth, it too soft to push.
A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitzyn