6 Minute Podcast Novels & Stories

He drove fast but carefully, his eyes flicking between the road and me every few seconds. "How far apart?" he asked. "Five minutes," I groaned, checking my phone. "Maybe four. It's irregular." "Dr. Martinez said 5-1-1," Noah recited. "Five minutes apart, lasting one minute, for one hour. We're close." "It feels like it's happening now," I whimpered. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through the pain. It was too soon. Thirty-six weeks. She wasn't ready. We weren't ready.

' He asked, finally breaking the silence 'Well, I figured some things out last night. I think we should just do a little speech on what a dream is and the power of a dream, while talking about a global celebrity from Nigeria who's living their dream.' 'That sound good but do you know we have only six minutes for the presentation?' He replied in a rather bored tone. 'I wasn't deaf in class so I know. And that's why I just think we should allocate specific minutes to the points.' 'hmm hmm. Good. What about a minute or half for someone to talk about a dream, a minute and half to talk about the power of a dream. A minute and half to talk about the global citizen.'

Content Advisory: Graphic descriptions of injury and death. Reader discretion is advised. ⊰ Marcel ⊱ Six hours. It’s been six hours since the ambush, six hours since the love of my life was in harm's way and I lost one of my most loyal men. I feel like I’ve aged a decade in the span of a few hours, and even as Mercy lays upstairs, safely tucked in our bed, I can’t get past this sickening feeling in my gut that something else is going on. That the attack on Mercy is only a fraction of the worst to come.

“Fine. But only for a few minutes.” I scooted over, making space for him as he walked in and sat beside me. The bed dipped slightly under his weight, and even though he was sitting at a respectable distance, his warmth still radiated toward me. I pressed play and we sat in comfortable silence. ### Six hours. I had no idea how six hours had passed so quickly. What was supposed to be a "few minutes" of watching turned into binging the entire season. The credits rolled on the final episode, and I was already reaching for the remote to start the next season when my phone alarm went off, jolting me out of my haze.

"There she is." The board presentation took forty minutes. I'd prepared for sixty and cut twenty minutes of material because the good version was tighter than the complete version. Marcus had taught me that. Priya had enforced it. Four board members, Marcus and Priya. The room was the kind of quiet that meant people were actually listening instead of waiting for their turn to talk.

They make it feel like my brain just went clubbing. Julian: You’ve got 20 minutes. Julian: Don’t be late. Julian: Or I’ll be collecting compensation :)

Once I officially changed my name from Yasmin Adelson to Yasmine Elisse, I booked a ticket home. Chuck showed up one last time, blocking my path. "After six years, you're really just walking away?" I stopped. My voice was low. "You were the mastermind, Chuck Benetton." Forgive you? Not a chance. I said nothing else. And in that silence, he finally let go. I rushed to my mom, linking arms with a grin. Life's full of wins and losses. But because I know how hard it was to get here—I hold on even tighter.

“We need to move faster.” “We have like nine minutes.” “We don’t,” he says. “We have less than two minutes. I set the timer too soon. If we are still on this pass when that bomb goes off, we’re toast.”

Sam's POV There I was, inside the hushed room where stillness hung thick - just the faint pulse of an old clock breaking the silence from its high shelf spot. Light spilled across the floor from my tablet, screen bright with one bold red ring circling the current day. Six months. Six months left before the deal ends.

He knew it was eleven minutes because he checked the time when he sat down and checked it once more because he was who he was, and the interval between the two checks was eleven minutes, which was the length of a board call that wasn't going well and also the length of his shortest recent morning briefing and also, it turned out, the length of time it took him to drink a third of a very good Malbec. Eleven minutes was not a long time. In the normal course of his life, eleven minutes passed without his noticing—the interval between one meeting and the next, the time it took to review a document, the duration of a phone call that he would forget as soon as he hung up. Eleven minutes was nothin