ASTRAL ROB
Episode 1: Waking Isn’t Always Waking
Episode 2: Echoes Over Beaver Creek
Rob didn’t hear Ava hang up. He barely registered the static hiss that followed, or the flickering light of the television.
All he could hear was the anchor’s voice, still reverberating in his skull.
“The Greyhound Gripper, Glenn Picco, has been denied a stay of execution. His execution is scheduled for two weeks from today.”
The name was a punch to the throat. A name soaked in blood and dread. A name that should have brought closure.
But instead, it clawed the scabs off old wounds.
No relief. No justice. Just that gnawing hollowness where his family used to live.
Rob needed to get out.
The sun was shining. A warm breeze meandered through the streets, nudging tree branches like curious fingers. It should have been a perfect day.
It wasn’t.
Rob chose to walk to work. He needed air—needed the world to be louder than the noise in his head.
His route took him past the city park, a winding ribbon of green laced with picnic tables and rusting fire pits. Beaver Creek trickled beneath a moss-draped stone bridge, its waters reflecting nothing but memory.
To anyone else, it was serene.
To Rob, it was sacred... and cursed.
The bridge came into view, and the weight in his chest grew heavier with each step. The breeze felt colder here.
Fifteen years.
That’s how long it had been. He’d planned the picnic like it was a proposal—Laura loved surprises. Their kids had helped him pick out the perfect blanket. The perfect songs. The perfect spot.
He’d left them for just fifteen minutes to grab the final touch from the car.
When he came back, silence greeted him.
No laughter. No teasing. No rustle of movement.
He searched for hours. Officers joined. Flashlights swept through trees. Voices echoed. Hope decayed.
By nightfall, they were found.
All three.
Rob stopped mid-step on the bridge, his hands trembling.
Beaver Creek whispered to him. It always did. Not in words, but in fragments: giggles, ripples, echoes that curled around his heart and twisted.
He kept walking.
The 7-Eleven was a sanctuary of hum and fluorescence. Rob ducked inside, grateful for its sterile quiet. He wandered toward the magazine rack without thinking.
And then he saw it.
OMNI.
A back issue.
The cover: a glowing apparition peeling away from a sleeping man.
The caption:
“Exploring Astral Projection: The Science Behind Spirit Travel”
Rob stared.
Something pulled at him.
He flipped through the pages. The article was strange—half pseudoscience, half poetry. But it gripped him. Talk of lucid states, altered frequencies, detachment of consciousness from the physical body.
It didn’t feel fake.
It felt familiar.
Rob stood there a moment longer, heart knocking against his ribs.
Then he bought the magazine.
He didn’t know why.
But part of him did.
End of Episode 2:
Meanwhile...
Too still.
Glenn lay flat on the cot, eyes closed, arms folded neatly across his chest like a corpse at peace.
But his chest rose and fell in steady rhythm.
Inhale—2...3...4...5...6...7...8.
Hold—2...3...4.
Exhale—2...3...4...5...6...7...8.
Hold—2...3...4.
Repeat.
Over and over, like the ticking of a clock inside a coffin.
His body remained still.
But beneath the skin, something pulsed.
The shadows in the cell deepened. Light bent.
And then—
his astral form lifted.
Pale. Translucent. Smiling.
Glenn opened his other eyes.
And drifted free.
Continue to Episode 3: A Long Days Night
TTFN
Frank Sirianni aka Foxxfyrre Cg
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