two opposing endings in response to “Our Organs Would Explode Inside Us” by Matthew Salesses I. We looked in the mirror and saw people we used to know, and the hunger stopped. And the questions began. Why such a constant, rangeless vacuum, our patch of ocean? How long had we allowed our insatiable whims to…

in response to “Things I Know About Fairy Tales” by Roxane Gay I imagined going down, down the rabbit hole of my own happily ever after. I sucked in gritty bits of earth and clay. I got dirty. I saw all the way through the tunnel, where channels split off like root systems in hollow…

in response to “Memoir” by Amy Hempel Just once in my life — oh, when have I ever wanted anything just once in my life? It’s nice enough she’s given me a choice. “Friend or enemy?” she repeats. What can I say, I’m weak-willed? I’d like to love her or hate her, but having done…

in response to “All of the people in these pictures are dead now” by Frank Hinton Let’s see what animals come to pick me apart and carry me away. If it’s only squirrels, I’m going to be disappointed. Nobody as heroic or as incredibly good-looking as me should be picked apart by what is basically…

in response to “The End of it All” by Ben Loory And he raises his arms to the flames. This was me when I was learning that she had disappeared. When I opened up to speak a ramble or a jumble of words and a mountain came sliding towards us. Where do I put this?…

in response to Peter Markus’ “The Moon Is A Star” Each broken piece became a star. The bits of crystal crown swept and collected and glued by the girl to the ceiling of her room to be something wondrous, something new. Each night, she reached up and touched what had once belonged to her mother.…

in response to “Mockingbird” by Len Kuntz The other evening she found me hunched in the corner next to the crib, practicing nursery songs for when the baby arrives, only she said I was like a zombie, unresponsive to her voice, not blinking, staring into the dark as if something, or someone, was there. This…

in response to Ulysses by James Joyce “Yes,” I said, “yes I will Yes.” “No,” he said, “no you won’t No.” “Yes,” I said, “yes I’ll remember next time to take out the trash, which—and I’m only adding this because it’s two o’clock in the morning and we have plenty of time before the alarm…

This is the original version of the story that participants have been remixing during the second half of this month. Before the letter, this funeral. Always a funeral with clowns, always a clown show with mutes in white face and polka dots, with men banished beneath the ruffles and the soundless gestures of mimes. Now…

THE REMIX: THE CLOWN SHOW Before the letter, this funeral. Always a funeral with clowns, always a clown show with mutes in white face and polka dots, with men banished beneath the ruffles and the soundless gestures of mimes. Now this gaggle of Pierrots emerged from a single station wagon, pink tongues extended and lace…

THE REMIX: CLOWN HOW SHE SAID Before the letter, bleeding after the funeral, gesturing only to Pierrot. Now, long days along the roads, long red shoes and polka dots. Now long nights around campfires gesturing the gristly aftermath and the air spoke. Long nights now camped in clearings amidst black juts of vacant forests and…

THE REMIX: A WORLD (SO LONG) UNSEEN Letter: What is handed, out of hand, of paper. Funeral: Where she was, last, when she went. Gaggle: To restrain ourselves, in this pack. Hunters. Gathered: Wound-round. Entangled. Funeral: Where when people die. Long: A measure of time. Long: Pierrot’s dance. Long: All of us exiting. Days: A…