ASTRAL ROB
Episode 1: Waking Isn't Always Wanting
Episode 2: Echoes Over Beaver Creek
Episode 4: Night’s Not Over Yet
Episode 6: You Will Cry Over Spilled Juice Though
For most inmates, prison was a calendar game.
Mark a day. Cross it off. Survive the next.
But not Glenn Picco. Glenn didn’t count the days. He used them.
While others watched their backs, dodged gangs, navigated the hierarchy of fear, Glenn reveled in confinement.
To him, prison was freedom.
Freedom to continue.
Freedom to kill.
There was just one thorn in his metaphysical side:
A cellmate.
Annoying. Loud. Smelled like onions and regret. A distraction Glenn could no longer tolerate.
But murder?
Too messy. Too loud.
And another trial would just delay his pleasure.
He needed something simple.
Something calculated.
Something… sticky.
Lunchtime.
Single-file shuffle to the cafeteria.
Same slop. Different tray.
Institutional blandness served with lukewarm coffee and a side of despair.
Glenn got his tray.
Watched the mystery meat ooze onto it.
Grabbed a juice.
Walked—purposefully—straight into a member of the Blue Death gang. A wall of inmate muscle.
Their trays collided.
Juice splattered onto Glenn’s shirt.
He stared, calmly.
“Watch what you’re doing, motherfucker.”
Then he threw the first punch.
The explosion was instant.
Tables toppled. Shouts echoed.
Trays flew. Guards swarmed.
Within seconds, alarms rang and chaos reigned.
The fight was broken up fast. Too fast for it to be anything more than a message. A demonstration. An act.
The warden reviewed the footage.
Interviewed a “trustworthy” inmate who swore he saw Glenn initiate the collision.
His verdict?
“Intentional provocation. Near-riot conditions. Solitary for a month.”
As the cuffs clicked around Glenn’s wrists, he smiled.
Led to The Hole in chains, he stepped inside the cold, concrete box that would now be his home.
Door slammed.
Chains removed.
Lights dimmed.
Perfect.
He lay down, hands folded calmly on his chest.
Inhale… 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
Hold… 1 2 3 4
End of Episode 6
Meanwhile...
Exhale… 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
Hold… 1 2 3 4
Inhale… 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
Rob’s body tingled.
Not pain. Not fear. Something deeper. Lighter.
Pleasurable. Electric.
A warmth running from the inside out.
Hold… 1 2 3 4
The energy surged.
Not sharp. Not jolting. Just... charged.
And then—he rose.
Not from the bed.
From himself.
Rob looked down at his body, slack-jawed with awe.
So tired. So worn.
No wonder I hurt.
No wonder I drank.
And then… he drifted.
He rose through the roof.
Past the ceiling fan, past the shingles.
The city stretched out beneath him—vivid, alive.
He had never seen it like this.
The lights weren’t just on. They glowed.
Fluorescent veins of color pulsed across rooftops.
Energy shimmered in the trees like music.
He descended slightly, brushing the sidewalk.
Not walking—gliding. Like skating on breath.
Then—tingle.
A ripple through his form, from chest to spine.
He paused, confused.
Another tingle. But in reverse.
He floated upward and turned.
A man walked the sidewalk below.
Had walked through Rob’s astral form.
Rob gasped.
He didn’t see me...
But I felt him.
Overwhelmed, elated, terrified—
Rob drifted back home.
Back into his body.
He blinked awake in the darkness, heart pounding with joy.
“Wow.”
TTFN
Frank Sirianni aka Foxxfyrre Cg
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