You're pretty sure this is complete hell.
There's laughter.
So much god damned laughter.
It won't stop.
The weasels- who don't seem to be able to pick just one color to be- are constantly moving.
Making a rhythm.
Thump-thump-pause-thump-thump-pause-thump-pause-thump-thump-pause.
They also hum- with so sync like the thump of their paws agains the sandy floor.
It would actually be pleasing, if it wasn't for the laughter drilling it's way into your skull.
It's driving you insane.
Every moment longer you're there, you're losing your mind just a little bit more.
Sometimes, while walking among the colorful weasels, you'll forget things.
Like your name.
"Mark." You say.
"Mark." The weasels say.
"Yes?" You ask.
They all look at you.
"You're driving us insane." They say.
"I'm being drivin insane." You say.
The laughter stops.
But yours doesn't.