Yes, there before him stood a unseemly angel, stark naked. Was that a strip of flesh dangling from an oily claw? Black wings throbbed slowly, dripping dark ooze.
"Ha! Heaven indeed," it mocked, and kicked John in the teeth. He groaned, beaten. "Did you expect your torment to be over so soon?"
John heard himself whimper and the angel approached his crumpled form. John could see the the long black talons of its feet, so jagged and sharp they made him wretch at the thought of....
"Jesus," John gasped, "what have I done to deserve this?"
The angel spoke, his voice like liquid tar: "My God, John, you don't remember?"
"No," John pleaded, "No, for God's sake! What did I do? I haven't done..."
"You humans," the angel spat, "So conveniently forgetful." The winged creature turned away, and began to talk to the darkness that surrounded them both. Its wings beat slowly. "It makes me sick," he said, his voice issuing yet more dry wretches from John's throat, "You humans, and your sel-ect-ive memories. Don't know what you've done, indeed." And with that the angel swung around, and grabbed his throat. "Don't know what you done? Hmm?" The angel's breath was rank, and John felt himself swoon under its assault.
"No," John gasped, beginning to black out, "No."
"Well then, let me show you what you've done." And with that, the angel flung him into darkness.