Thirty Minutes Away

In the city of Marrent, every word is counted against a tally you're born with — spend it all and you go silent for good. Tace Mallow hasn't said good morning in eleven years. He's saving up.

Afterward, we sit with hoarding — whether the things we're saving are being protected, or just going unspent.

A story by the Fixion Writing Room. Presented by Matt at Pipchi. Thirty Minutes Away is a place, not a runtime — and this one's on the house.

For sixty years the Briarfield Municipal Pool opened its doors at three o'clock. Today they're draining it — and Audrey, who kept the order all those years, stays to watch the water go.

Afterward, we sit with what we give to a place without ever knowing we were giving it — and who's left to tell us.

A story by the Fixion Writing Room. Presented by Matt at Pipchi. Thirty Minutes Away is a place, not a runtime — and even two inches can hold you.

A starwright who tunes suns discovers she's only ever learned half the job. Afterward, we sit with what makes a person change — and how long it's reasonable to wait before you do. A story by the Fixion Writing Room. Presented by Matt at Pipchi. Thirty Minutes Away is a place, not a runtime — and the light takes a while to arrive.

A professional mourner cracks under the pressure of a mourning competition — in the most unexpected way. Afterward, we sit with switching lanes: how you know it's time, and what it costs to admit it. A story by the Fixion Writing Room. Presented by Matt at Pipchi. Thirty Minutes Away is a place, not a runtime — where you can hum along.

A legal translator is hired to sort a dead man's love letters for an estate. She's there for the paperwork. The letters have other plans. Afterward, we sit with first steps — why it's so much easier to read about love than to say something. A story by the Fixion Writing Room. Presented by Matt at Pipchi. Thirty Minutes Away is a place, not a runtime — and some things don't translate.