Peter looked at the sky. My face really hurts. He didn't really remember how he'd got here, or who he was, or where he was. He reached up and ran his finger over the four jagged gashes on his face. Now that he thought about it, he was really uncomfortable. That was strange. It was too warm here, and very dry. His throat was parched, and these grainy things were all over his back.
Peter sat up, wincing. The massive, mutilated body of the monster lay a few yards away. Memory began running back. Mostly of a giant, orange hand slamming into his face.
"Geez, what the hell was that?"