The bones scare me.
(Which bones? Whose? And where?)
It's dark. I don't see anything but bones. Dreadful smell. Something's moving. Not enough light for details, still glinting off the bones.
Surely they aren't moving without help. Rats, maybe?
I don't know who I am or where I came from, but I know rats. Not in pictures or words, only fear pulsing through my brain.
The rats are an illusion, as are the bones. Whole worlds made up in this narrow space. Something pushes me, and I jump, followed by music and laughter.
"Oh, look! A Jack in the Box!"