6 Minute Podcast Novels & Stories

By the time I’m recording again, the conversation has moved on to something I didn’t catch. “…have a lot of time to explore the issue over the next 24 hours,” Epicurus says. My heart jumps. Twenty-four hours gives us plenty of time. Twenty-four hours is excellent. Well… relatively speaking. “Twenty-four? Seriously?” Grant asks flippantly. “Are you really that bad at this?”

I replied anger coating my voice. I am currently on a verge of losing my fucking mind and trying my best to keep it in. He respected himself and decided to stop me from going, begrudgingly he explained their plan to me. We are currently three in the car because Daniel is no longer with us which makes it easier to think, I feel guilty for thinking that way. We haven't driven more than five minutes on the uneven road before we saw a battered house that looked like it was built a hundred years ago.

PHOEBE The human mind, when subjected to extreme duress, does not process time in linear increments. It fragments. It stretches minutes into agonizing, hollow epochs, filling the silence with every worst-case scenario your imagination can assemble from the dark. For exactly twenty-three minutes, I was a prisoner inside my own sanctuary.

Like the end of a very long, complicated piece of music and you're finally at the last measure. I looked at that message for a while. What comes after the last measure, I typed. Silence, he said. And then you decide what to play next. I set the phone face down on the table. I picked it back up. Room 214 tonight. Six o'clock. His reply was immediate. I'll be there. I put the phone in my bag and walked out of the library into the October afternoon. Six weeks until the audition. Something that had been waiting for the right moment was starting to understand that the right moment wasn't some future point where everything was resolved and safe and certain. The right moment was now. It had probabl

When he shakes his head no, it aches for my mate. “Our flight today is about ten hours.” Our pilot Mitch says before he tells us before he goes into the cockpit. “I’m sure you’re all in a hurry to get home. I need to get back to my mate and our new pup too, so I’ll make it as fast as possible.” “How many minutes is that?” Ghost asks. “Six hundred.” “Oh.” He sits and thinks for a moment. “How many seconds is that?” “Umm, thirty-six thousand.” “I can count that high. I’ve counted higher.”

I leaned on a wall closest to me and doubled over, my bat dropping to the ground in a clatter. ‎ ‎Mother's smile. Father's skull. Khloe's limbs. They wouldn't stop coming like camera flashes.. ‎ ‎Hardly managing, I forced up a glitchy hand and tried to count. ‎ ‎ ‎Five minutes... ‎ ‎The episode only lasted for five minutes before my mind calmed. ‎ ‎ ‎As my heart flooded to the roof of my throat, I reached into the pockets of my jacket desperately. ‎ ‎"My medicine.. I need.. I need to find my medicine.."

The interview aired on Thursday morning, the podcast they had prepped, and by noon the clip that mattered was already moving through the right channels the way a well-built clip always did, the way she had designed it to. Theo, unguarded for exactly eleven seconds, talking not about the acquittal but about the year he'd spent teaching himself to read a balance sheet the SEC investigators had refused to read correctly, and the host had gone quiet, genuinely quiet, and said, that's the first time I've heard you talk about it like that, like a person and not a headline, and Theo had said, simply, I had help learning how, and looked, for one unscripted half-second, directly into the camera in a

Like something that had been carried a long way and was deciding whether to put itself down. "You have nine minutes," I said. He blinked. "What?" "You asked for nine minutes before the unresolved things." I looked at my watch. "Race ended eleven minutes ago. You've used two. You have seven left. I'm being generous and rounding up." Something moved across his face. The thing underneath a smile that was realer than the smile. "You timed it." "I'm a racer. I time everything." "Audrey." "Six minutes fifty," I said. "Ticking."

Sherman nodded toward him and sat down on the sofa closest to the door, while everybody was trying hard to introduce their advantages and planning. Kingsley waved his left hand, signaling them to stop. Then he took a sip of tea and said, "There are 10 people in total, but I only have one hour. So each of you got 6 minutes, and please control the time by yourself. Who is going to be the first one? Let's start..." It seemed he was born with stateliness of a king. Everyone became quiet and abided by the rule of six minutes for each person. Once the time was over, they would stop automatically even if they didn't finish.

Miranda walked over and drove the heel of her shoe straight down onto the back of my hand. "You're just a grease monkey. What makes you think you're some kind of savior? Leon, don't waste time talking to him. Lock him in solitary. We'll deal with him after the alarm stops." I looked at the timer on the wall. Seventeen minutes left before the core blew. "If the core blows up, none of us will make it out alive!" I shouted at Leon, spit hitting his boots.