A storm of creativity is coming your way in this session recorded at Social Enterprise Greenhouse in Providence, RI for our special collaboration with EcoRI News!


Lightning cracked, or was it the sound of a cannon? It was difficult to tell the difference these days.

The days were blackened with smoke and death, and the night was lit we distant fires, strange glowing, and flashes.

The war had been on for three years. Before that Sud had been playing volleyball on the beach with friends. She had spent warm afternoons in green parks watching planes fly and squirrels compete for potato chips and pieces of bread they had found in the trash.

There was another crack in the night. This one seemingly closer. Sud shied away from her kitchen window. It was eerily like the day that this had all happened. She had been washing the dishes – forks and knives, the water had been warm. A flash and a thud.

It had been so out of the ordinary for her small Indiana suburb. Sud hadn’t known big noises before that, not ones that she didn’t want to hear. Now it was all she knew. It was driving her to madness. She was wasting away, mind and body. The food that she could find, she couldn’t hold it down, even though her muscles desperately needed it.

Sud had wrapped her clock in toilet paper to deaden the violent blows of the pendulum contained within its casing. She had been oblivious to the noise prior to the bombings, but now it sounded like steel raindrops punching through glass and flesh. Sud couldn’t bear throwing the clock out, though. Time was one of the few things that tied her to before the war. Without it, she would cease to be human.

She had given herself a haircut the previous day. The rusted blades of her scissors snarled on her black and silver hair. Now she looked at herself in the mirror. It reminded her of dating, sex, and finding starfish on the beach. It was good. It was human. 

Another explosion rocked the house. A pot slid off the shelf and clattered on the hard wood floor.

The clock remained.