The sound that jolted between the lobes of another began to wither, the decibels that sat compact like an atom in a solid now dispersed rather unsightly to a gaseous like atom.
Deus stood before a man, every millimetre of this figures body was covered, tight bags wrapped around, confining him to a space only within his own skin.
Blood oozed out from underneath, only adding to the mass that accumulated itself upon the floor, the blood was light, nearly void of colour.
Deus, the man who wished and received.
The man.
The man who wished, the man who worked hard to make that wish truth, to wish not to the incalculable probability's of life, nor god, rather to wish upon himself.
He worked hard to help others, perhaps to glorify his life, to give it meaning where he saw it null, or to be remembered, by anyone, so before he is laid to rest the least he could do, with his near lifeless body was to cast a shadow of knowledge, the knowledge that someone was here for the man.
Deus dropped, his body fell limp and he landed atop the pile that laid heavily upon the man beneath, the Porter, his descent ended with a thump.