By Joshua Skinnell
The fluorescent bulb flickered, concentric rings of darkness pulsed through the dying light, bathing the thinsteel walls of the hollow warehouse in its dim glow. The smell of gasoline mingled with the dry scent of cardboard as Jacob’s knife squeaked through masking tape, opening a box of canned goods. The screech and deafening buzz of indistinct chatter mixed with the repetitive beep of a reversing truck, stabbing his ears with sharp pain. His temples pounded with each thump of his racing heart, and his dry eyes ached from the squeezing pressure of fatigue. The boxes below vibrated mercilessly out of focus as the can of corn he held trembled within his gloved hand. Then, with a dull thud, the aluminum can struck the dusty concrete below.
Jacob knelt and his eyes darted in all directions, scanning the room for observers. He was invisible; photons passed through him like glass; he was mute, his utterances went unnoticed by all. He rummaged through his slacks and quickly retrieved a handful of round white pills, gulping them down with a dry swallow. Then he picked up the can, stood, and continued his mindless work.
As the oxycodone took effect, Jacob stepped back from the viewing lenses of his eyes and took a seat in the darkness behind. A wave of serene silence crashed over him, washing away his pain and anxiety into its delicate white sand. A soothing tingle poured over his brain, oozing like honey as it flowed, coating the grooves of his grey matter and filling his cranium. The past and present blurred into a hazy opiate fog. This chemical cascade muted the world around him, reducing the depth and complexity of physical reality into a two-dimensional plane. Boxes fused with the wall, which in turn merged seamlessly into the shelf, and the tiled ceiling melted into the concrete floor. It was as though he stood inside a chrome sphere, observing the distorted world through its gleaming reflection.
Glimmers and stretched refractions danced and elongated as the sphere began to move. Jacob observed the shifting images as the metallic mirror picked up speed, spinning faster. Then, with an abrupt splash, he penetrated the surface of the concrete, plunging far beneath it. His arms floated upwards as he sank deeper into the water’s embrace. Air bubbles furiously escaped from his nose and mouth in a turbulent tumbling outburst, while the shimmering lights above dimmed through the water’s rippling surface. Encased in the chilling embrace of the depths, he shivered as he watched the distant twinkle of his world disappear and descended further into the abyss.
Thousands of leagues beneath the surface, in the ocean’s calm abyssal plain, all light had vanished, leaving the waters ink-black, the currents icy and motionless. Jacob drifted through this weightless void, feeling an all-encompassing nothingness, lost in an endless expanse where sensation and knowledge faded into oblivion. Then, a minuscule flicker of light snagged his focus—a faint, pulsing glow amidst the dense murk.
Jacob squinted, attempting to discern the nature of the twinkling light as it intensified. Gradually, it expanded in size and clarity, elongating as it drew nearer, eventually spreading out into a disk before fragmenting into a cascade of vibrant lights. As he continued his descent into visibility, its expansive arms unfurled, revealing the intricate, spiraling tapestry within.
The galaxy gradually twirled into focus, its gas clouds curling and swirling in a fluid dance of winding and twisting wisps, alive with the glow and flash of newborn stars. Billions of vibrant spheres of burning hydrogen, neatly striated and organized, rotated around the galactic core like a blue iris contracting and expanding its fibers around its pupil. Jacob had ascended the ladder; he gazed into the infinite, and the infinite gazed back into him through its piercing blue eye. The unseen became visible, the silent spoke in sign, and solitude was enveloped in the cool embrace of the cosmos.
The energy, bursting forth from the singularity around fifteen billion years ago, cooled and condensed into atoms. These atoms gathered, collapsing under their own gravity to ignite nuclear fusion. Within the hearts of stars, a painstaking process forged carbon, iron, and the heavier elements of physical form. Upon completing this metamorphosis, the stars exploded from their cocoons in supernovae, scattering the seeds of life across the universe. After journeying for billions of years, these elements coalesced to form a planet, the third among nine within a solar system in the Milky Way. From this cosmic dust emerged life, from this life evolved humanity, and after nine thousand generations, humanity bore Jacob.
Beneath the stark fluorescence of hospital lights, Jacob’s mother labored as she pushed through the last contraction, bringing Jacob into the light of the world. Under the sun’s rays, little Jacob wobbled between his training wheels as his bicycle found balance with each determined pedal. Within the nitrogen-rich atmosphere, he watched his shoes flick in and out of view as he swung high on the playground swing at recess. The pillars of oak and pine, stately and strong, reverberated with the sounds of laughter, echoing from Jacob’s nearby bus stop. The silver glow of the moon captured his gaze as he looked upward in fear, wondering when his mommy and daddy would walk through the door, heralded by the all-too-familiar scents of secondhand smoke and sour beer. The blades of grass, stained yet resilient, bore his weight as he hesitated with the white pill in his hand, marking the onset of his addiction. A gentle breeze pushed his backpack, ushering him away from his home, wiping away his tears and muffling his father’s screams as he walked.
“I don’t ever want to see you again! I didn’t raise a druggy!” His father’s voice cracked and strained as he yelled.
Now, in the serenity of weightlessness, Jacob found solace in the open arms of the infinite. He was finally home; the created reabsorbed by the creator. The finite taken in by the infinite. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Jacob’s wide, glossy eyes mirrored the bouncing chrome sphere encircling them. His mouth hung open, panting rhythmically with each beat. His pallid skin clung to the fleeting warmth within, while his ears enveloped his consciousness in perfect silence. A pair of large hands, one stacked over the other, applied pressure to the center of his chest, causing his body to twitch and convulse with each forceful compression.
“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty,” the voice from above halted its count.
“One,” initiated a different voice, as a second pair of hands forced air into Jacob’s lungs via a clear plastic mask. “Two,” it announced after delivering the final breath.
“I still don’t feel a pulse,” stated the individual performing the compressions, pressing his index and middle finger against Jacob’s cold neck. “Time of death, 10:32.”
Joshua Skinnell started writing in 2023 after he discovered his love for the craft while taking a creative writing class at the University of La Verne under Asher Sund. Writing gave him a place to dream, create, and quietly reflect. It’s become a source of identification—a place his stream of consciousness can spill out for personal understanding. Born in 1986, he spent most of his life in Texas before relocating to Los Angeles in 2021. Joshua writes because he enjoys the imaginative process; it makes him feel alive and that feeling has enriched the rest of his life.