Angel

The day the angel came down was a day Thomas would not soon forget.
Thomas didn't realize it was supposed to be an angel at first; he thought it was a meteorite coming down, bringing with it the end of everything beautiful. It rocketed down from the sky aflame, with a thundering, great rage that Thomas felt would be the last thing he saw.

It struck ground a few hundred yards from where Thomas was standing. It landed with the sound of the nearby trees being rent. He ran over, expecting to see some lump of molten metal cooling in a crater, but what he saw instead was, in a word, horrible. Splinters of wood were all over the place, as though thrown about by a careless child. The blood was scattered in a chillingly similar fashion. But the creature itself, or what was left of it, upset Thomas the most.
It looked like it might once have been, in a past life, something resembling a human, which made its grotesquery all the more unsettling. Its most clearly warped feature were the large, leathery wings that protruded from its back. Even had they not been twisted and maimed by the crash, the wings would've given him chills by their appearance alone; the skin stretched tight across the out-of-place bones reminded him of his childhood traumas and nightmares. Its face probably used to be something like a human face -- if the human in question had a long, hooked proboscis; a jutted brow; deep, squinted eyes; and an angular chin -- but was now little more than a mess; most of its nose and left cheek had been reduced to pulp, and its left eye was entirely missing. The bits of skull that protruded past the face were impossibly white; a ghostly, haunting color. Its limbs were screwed about and mangled, bending in up to five uncomfortable places.
The worst of it was the voice it made as it lay there, bleeding and dying in agony, beseeching this one human to help.
The sight of that creature brought forth a terror visceral in nature, and Thomas ran from the scene the instant his legs would listen to him once again.