Writer's Block

A blue sun. Is that normal? It looks familiar somehow, which fails to reassure me. Of course, that could be because finally i can see myself. I amble over to a nearby muddy puddle and study the murky reflection.
Arms, legs, two of each. Only one head, though - seems a bit lacking. And what are those things sticking out of it? Horns? Antennae? Ears? They feel furry, whatever they are. Hell, all of me feels furry except the metal plates protecting my arms and legs, and a rather vicious-looking spiked ball attached to my tail. Strangely hard underneath the fur, though - definitely not flesh. Something tells me this isn't my original form.
I look warily at the bloody footprints leading to and from the cargo hold, back to the truck. It would be better not to hang around, but curiousity draws me back towards the truck. What was in there with me?
I clamber awkwardly back through the open top, and look around. Dozens of boxes like mine, all with a creature inside. Some are like me, others anything but. I count six...seven...eight different types. None of them move or give any indication of life. The boxes themselves are mostly featureless, apart from prison-style bars at the front, and some sort of code branded in one corner. No clues here. I turn to leave, and freeze a moment later. I've stayed too long.
Outside, something snarls.